


Sleepy Hollow

by CleverDame



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Sam Winchester Gives Oral Sex, Sleepy Hollow - Freeform, Supernatural Elements, Twist on a classic, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-11-09 10:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 37,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20852225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverDame/pseuds/CleverDame
Summary: In 1799, specialized police constables Sam and Dean Winchester are sent from New York City to a small town called Sleepy Hollow to investigate a series of murders. Approached by the town’s council, the Winchesters discover the local residents believe that the murders are the work of a deadly Hessian horseman whose head has been mysteriously chopped off. With help from the beautiful Y/N Van Tassel, Sam Winchester’s investigation takes him further through the dark wood where more murders have been occurring. What Sam does not realize is that the mysterious Horseman is being controlled by someone in a sinister plot to kill the most suitable men in the village.





	1. One

** **

**New York City - 1799**

Despite it’s rapidly growing population, the city is unnaturally quiet at night. It’s nothing more than the looming silence of empty cobblestone streets, bordered by stately buildings.

Through the fog, there’s a rapid clanging bell in the distance. Two constables clamor around the corner with their lanterns held high. They both pause to look at each other, listening before following the sounds and disappearing down an alleyway.

For a moment the quiet slosh of the Hudson River is the only sound. Both policemen stand silent waiting for the bell that begins ringing once again, louder this time. They draw their pistols, inching toward the embankment.

“Where are you?” calls one of them.

“Here! Over here!” comes the disembodied voice of a man. They scurry to the river’s edge. There’s a man indeed, waist deep in the water with his back to them. He throws his alarm bell aside, struggling to pull something from the murky water.  
  
“I need your help with this!” the man calls out.   
  
Both policemen hesitate, wary as they watch the scene before them.  
  
“Constable Winchester? Sam Winchester…is that you?”  
  
Sam stands up to his full height and turns, eyes piercing in the night. Brow furrowing he nods in confirmation.  
  
“None other, and not only me.” He goes back to pulling at a heavy object in the water. “I have found something.”

Acting on his own, Sam drags a bloated corpse from the water, dragging it up the bank. He scoffs, shaking mud from his boot.

“It appears to be a man, or rather was lately a man. Thank you for your help,” he mutters wiping his hands with a handkerchief.

**New York City Watchhouse - Jail**

The jail is dank and cavernous, it’s Sam’s least favorite place to be stuck in. The walls never fail to bring a sense of impending claustrophobia. The body he pulled from the river is laying in a wheelbarrow manned by the two officers that found him at the river. He watches as the high constable lifts the blanket off the corpse.

The high constable takes one look and waves his hand. “Burn it.”

“Yes, sir,” replies a junior policeman, moving to take the corpse down a ramp toward the incineration room.   
  
“Just a moment, if I may….we do not yet know the cause of death,” Sam interjects, appealing to reason.  
  
“When you find ‘em in the river, the cause of death is drowning.” The high constable chuckles, cocking an eyebrow at Sam. This isn’t their first interaction and he prefers Dean to the younger Winchester who always seems to insist on pressing his luck.  
  
“Possibly so if there is water in the lungs, but, by pathology, we might determine whether or not he was dead when he went into the river,” Sam explains calmly.  
  
Everyone in the room looks to Sam, aghast at the very suggestion. “Cut him up? Are we heathens? Let him rest in peace - in one piece as according to God and the New York Department of Health.”

Sam is about to protest, balling his fists in frustration, but thinks better of it and stops himself. He’s been down this road before and knows arguing will get him nowhere.

Two new officers interrupt the conversation, dragging a bleeding, semi-conscious man into the room.  
  
“What happened to him?” the high constable asks.

“Nothing sir,” the officer shrugs as if the man hasn’t already been beaten within an inch of his life. “We arrested him for burglary.”

Sam watches as the two officers throw the man up against the bars of the jail cell, while another opens the cage door. With their leather batons, they begin to beat the man until he’s locked up in the cage. There’s little justice in the world at large but even less in this place. A sad irony that’s not lost on Sam.

Using this moment of distraction to his advantage, Sam follows the corpse into the next room.

**The Next Morning - Flat of Sam Winchester**

Dean bounds up winding stairs to his brother’s top floor apartment. Sam has turned his residential flat into a makeshift office and in true style, Dean finds him engrossed in a book, furiously taking notes, sketching the outline of what is undoubtedly some new invention.

“I knocked, you must not have heard me.” Dean quips.

“I heard you,” Sam grins, glancing up from his papers with a pencil tucked behind his ear. “But you always find your way inside with no help from me.”

“What is this?” Dean approaches the desk, bending down to look at Sam’s drawing. It’s all intricate lines and careful measurements detailed in the margins.

“It’s an apparatus for magnification,” Sam taps the paper. “It’s going to change the way we look at crime scenes. I’ll be able to identify the details of a wound and in turn, give a better idea of murder weapons and a true cause of death. Not the guessing game the police would have us play.”

“Impressive.” Dean nods in approval. In reality, he has no idea what he’s looking at. This is Sam’s territory, experiments, and contraptions. “Speaking of the police, we’re going to be late if we don’t leave soon.”

Sam sits back on his stool and sighs. This is what they do now. True cases of the supernatural are rare. An encounter with a ghastly spirit usually turns out to be a combination of ignorance and old world superstition. Almost everything they come across has a scientific explanation, so Sam’s resigned himself to furthering the accuracy of everyday police work.

Sam and Dean live to disprove and debunk. Their reputation has grown throughout the city of New York. After years of working in private service, they were approached by the city council to consult on the backlog of criminal cases the police were ill-suited to solve on their own. That was a decade ago. Now, past adventures with ghosts and ghouls seem like a distant memory.

Since those first days they’ve long been deputized into the department. Now full fledged Constables they are able to skirt many of the normal rules and regulations that govern most civil servants. The Winchesters get the job done, which has afforded them a certain freedom to work using uncommon methods.

They deal in the dark side of men, flesh and blood, mystery and murder.

**City Watchhouse - Court**

Sam and Dean march along the street leading up the watchhouse. It’s in the heart of the city, a thriving metropolis alive with horse-drawn carriages and men, women and tradesmen, all a whirl of activity.

“You do not have to come with me.” Sam turns back to his brother. “I could end up waiting eons before they allow me to present.”

“I’ve nothing else to do with my day and Johana is upset with me. I prefer your company.” Dean places a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

They stalk past the men held in chains and gibbets, lined up in front of the watchhouse. Sam takes a breath and bounds up the stairs.  
  
When they enter the courtroom, there’s a man already presenting.

Sam loathes this day. It’s the bi-monthly assembly open to the public. Applicants, mostly cranks and eccentrics, present their devices for fighting and solving crime. It’s a joke and only serves to discredit the work he’s doing, important, necessary work.

In the front of the room is a row of city officials, the Burgomaster in the center, flanked by the high commissioner and various magistrates and aldermen. Most of the applicants are crowded onto one side of the room, waiting their turn. Sam joins them holding only his notes.  
  
“…and in a few weeks, the plague of pickpockets will be a thing of the past!” A sickly looking man with yellow teeth has the floor, presenting what can only be described as a combination wallet and mousetrap. He holds out his invention, demonstrating how to set the trap spring. “Give me a dozen constables, undercover in an average gentleman’s dress…mixing with the crowds where pickpockets are rife!”  
  
The man dramatically pockets the wallet. He then produces a fake hand-on-a-stick and demonstrates the business.  
  
“A stealthy hand dips into the gentleman’s pocket…and…”  
  
There is the sound of the trap snapping shut and the yellow toothed man withdraws the fake hand, its fingers chopped off. The officials wince, as Sam suppresses the urge to groan out loud.

“Thank you. We will take your device under consideration, Mr. Vanderbilt… Next!” The Burgomaster calls out.  
  
A large man starts dragging a man-sized cage-like contraption to center floor, while Sam tries to get the attention of the officials.

“Gentlemen!” Sam raises his hand stepping forward, towering over everyone else in the room. “The Millennium is almost upon us. In a few months, we will be living in the nineteenth century!”  
  
“Wait your turn, Constable Winchester,” the High Constable cautions.

Sam scoffs, unable to hide his disdain. “These devices are unworthy of modern civilization.”  
  
“Quiet!” the Burgomaster warns. “Next, I say!”  
  
“Thank you, sir!” The large man spreads his arms wide. He turns proudly to his man-sized cage, whose front lowers on hinges for easy access. The floor of the cage is a steel plate. A writing board for signing confessions is attached to the inside of the cage. “I present to you, The Tomkins self-locking Confessional. This device is cheap at the price and will last for years with just an occasional wipe with a damp cloth. It will close and lock when the villain steps on the floor plate.”  
  
“Ridiculous,” Sam mutters to himself, dropping books and papers around his feet. Stepping forward he glances over at Dean who’s hand is over his eyes in embarrassment, he knows what’s coming. “Arrest that man!”  
  
“Arrest him?” The High Constable looks around in confusion. “What are you playing at?”

“I accuse him of murder.” Sam thrusts a finger at Mr. Tomkins who stares at him in horror.  
  
“What the devil are you talking about, you loon? I haven’t killed anyone!”  
  
Sam takes two steps toward him and gives him a violent shove in the chest. The large man staggers back into his cage, which self-locks, and at the same time a head clamp descends from the top, gripping his head. His arms flail about as he yells.

Sam slaps a page on the writing board, offering his own pen. “Sign here!”

“The release handle.” The man inside the cage groans and points to the lever.

“Not until you confess.” Sam raises his chin, looking around the room.  
  
There’s a muted uproar from the onlookers but Sam holds his ground, waiting for the man to sign the paper before pulling the release handle. Retrieving the paper Sam holds it high in the air. “I have here a confession to the murder of a man I fished out of the river last night!”

“Stand down, Winchester.” The High Constable stands up, slapping his hand on the table in front of him.

“I will not sit down. I stand up for sense and justice. Our jails overflow with men and women convicted on confessions worth no more than this one. Shall we send even more innocents to the stocks?”  
  
The High Constable bangs his gavel until he gets silence for the Burgomaster to speak.  
  
“Constable Winchester,” The Burgomaster narrows his eyes. “This is a song we have heard more than once from you and your brother, but never with this discordant accompaniment. Where is your brother?”

“Here,” Dean raises a hand, stepping forward to join Sam.

“I have two courses open to me. First, I can let you cool your heels in the cells until you learn respect for the dignity of my office.”

Sam forces a smile, nodding in tacit agreement. “I beg your pardon. I only meant well. Why are we the only ones who see that to solve crimes, to detect the guilty, we must use our brains? To recognize vital clues, using up-to-date scientific-”

“Which brings me to the second course. Constable Winchester, there is a town upstate, two days’ journey to the north in the Hudson Highlands. It is a place called Sleepy Hollow. Have you heard of it?”  
  
“I have not.” Sam’s interest is piqued, as is Dean’s, both men listening intently.  
  
“An isolated farming community, mostly Dutch. Three persons have been murdered there, all within a fortnight…each found with their head lopped off.”  
  
“Lopped off?” Sam steps forward, eyes narrowing.

“Clean as dandelion heads, apparently. Now, these ideas of yours, they have never been put to the test?”

“You have never allowed him to put them to the test,” Dean chimes in.

“Just so, granted. So you take your experiments to Sleepy Hollow and deduce, er, detect the murderer. Bring him here to face our good justice. Will you do this?” 

“We shall.” Sam looks to Dean, both already in silent agreement. “Gladly.”  
  
“Remember, it is you, Sam Winchester, who is now put to the test.”


	2. Two

**Flat of Sam Winchester**  
  
Sam packs his bags, methodically wrapping jars of chemicals and gently folding anatomy charts. He’s going to bring as much of his laboratory as the carriage will allow.

“Do you truly need all this?” Dean is holding a heavy jar up to the light, it’s contents questionable as the specimen floats to the side of the glass. “Dad didn’t need fancy magnifying glasses, he did the job with a gun and a bible.”

“Dad was convinced there were monsters in every dark corner of the world. He was just another believer who fell in with the mass hysteria.” Sam doesn’t like to talk about John, there’s too much unfinished business. “How many genuine poltergeists have we come across in our life, three?”

“Four.” Dean holds up four fingers triumphantly. “You always forget the woman in white.”

Sam looks up as if remembering for the first time. “That seems like a lifetime ago.”

“I suppose it does.” Getting up from his perch, Dean wanders around the room as Sam goes about his work. The walls are filled with charts and maps, Sam’s always had a secret pension for cartography.

Above the fireplace there two photos. One is of their parents, John sitting in a chair, Mary standing behind him with her hand placed on his shoulder. There is no joy, only long faces as they look into the camera. The second is of a beautiful blonde woman, her hair falling over her shoulder, her name written in elaborate calligraphy across the bottom of the frame: Jessica. Dean takes the pictures, making a close inspection of the woman who was once part of his brother’s life.

“If you’re going to touch my things, you can wait downstairs.” Sam plucks the frame from Dean’s hand and tucks it into his case, along with his clothing.

“You can’t have that much more to pack. There’s nothing left.” Dean holds his hands out, showcasing the bare room.

“I’m almost done.” Sam walks to the window, opening a birdcage with a bright red cardinal inside.

“What will you do with him?” Dean watches the bird flutter out of the cage and then out the open window.

“Fly free. It is a good day for sad farewells.” Sam watches it go, looking down at the coach on the street below. “Our carriage awaits.”

-

It takes an hour to get out of New York City, the coach lumbering past the city limits, forgoing civilization. The wide road narrows, a single dirt path that leads onward through thickly forested wilderness.

“Jo had no interest in accompanying us?” Sam inquires, looking out the window at the never ending sea of trees. Dusk is falling but they plan to continue on throughout the night.

“She’s unhappy with me.” Dean shrugs, his lip curling.

“With good reason.” Sam lifts an eyebrow.

“I don’t need your judgment as well as hers. We’ll have a child the normal way, just as everyone else does.”

“Not if you’re with me on this investigation. I believe one has to be present to conceive a child.” Sam can’t help but tease.

“Don’t get smart.” Dean kicks his brother’s boot. “We’ve plenty of time. She’s not that old, although to hear her tell it, she’s nearing her final years. Everything is dramatic beyond reason.”

“Maybe,” Sam shrugs. “She wants a child, it seems like a normal desire.”

“She wants someone else’s child, from an orphanage.” Dean shakes his head. “I’m not talking about this anymore. It’s part of the reason I’m here, I need a break from this constant pressure.”

“You’ll hear no more of it from me.” Sam smiles, taking their father’s journal from his bag.

“If you think he was a lunatic, why do you carry his journal with you?”

“There’s a lot to be learned.” Sam taps the cover. “He might have not realized what he saw, but from just the description I’m able to deduce what sort of natural phenomenon he was witnessing. Just last week I determined his obsession with the will-o’-the-wisp was likely nothing more than swamp gas. This is what gives us insight. When the villagers start talking of magical fairy lights in the forest, we’ll know where to start looking.”

“He’d hate it.” Dean chuckles, rolling up his jacket as a pillow, lying down on the bench.

“Yes, he would.”

He has few memories of his father. And what remains are faint recollections. What he can recall with a burning intensity are his father’s obsessions. His quest to find and kill monsters that never really existed. John Winchester saw demons lurking in every shadow. He found the devil in whispered secrets and meaningless symbols. And his father killed without discretion, he saw only black and white, good and evil.

John’s relentless belief in the spiritual world is what still fuels Sam’s desire to disprove anything otherworldly. He and Dean rely on facts and a sense of order and reason. Rarely do the creatures hiding in the night turn out to be anything other than flesh and blood men.

The sun quickly fades as the coach rocks along, tree branches scraping the side of the carriage. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howls and Sam looks out the small window into the black of night, before shutting the curtain and finding some sleep of his own.

The next morning, Sam wakes up before Dean, peeking out to reveal their journey has progressed through the sun-dappled forest. His brother is still in the depths of deep sleep, a hand resting limp in his lap. Across Dean’s open palm is a prominent scar, a long nasty cut he acquired in a scuffle many years ago. Sam checks the contents of his leather satchel, pausing for a moment to study the palm of his own hand. There are strange scars on both palms, evenly dispersed tiny dots of white tissue. He’s had them his entire life, unsure of how they came to be.

**Sleepy Hollow**

Sam and Dean stand between two massive stone pillars, watching the coach as it leaves them behind.

“You’ll have to leave most of your luggage here. We can send for it later.” Dean grumbles, picking up his bags. “Tell me again why he couldn’t take us into town?”

“Superstition,” Sam confirms, glancing up at the tree limbs above them. “Dean, look.”

There are dead ravens hanging from the branches, strung up by twine.

“A few dead crows to keep the rest out of the fields.” Dean’s grimaces. “It’s a grisly sight. Welcome to Sleepy Hollow.”

They follow the winding road to town, passing a church and a graveyard. The road ahead is bordered by rows of businesses and two-story homes. As they enter the town square an elderly woman stands in her doorway, watching. Sam tips his hat and the woman scowls, looking away and shutting the door with a thud.

“I just love townspeople,” Dean chortles.

Looking up Sam spies another townie staring down from his window. The moment their eyes meet he closes the shutters.

“I’m seeing a pattern,” Sam comments, looking behind him.  
  
As they continue they see there are two or three riflemen placed at vantage points on the roofs of the town. Looking back Sam spies another in the church tower. The whole village is like the wild west, waiting for outlaws to attack.

Off in the distance, sitting in the middle of a field, there’s a strange wooden bunker, more like a small fortress with a huge bell mounted on the top. Several farmers are gathered around it all bearing rifles.  
  
The Winchesters pause, looking at each other and the sight before them. A young boy about ten, walks up to one of the rifleman, with food and drink tied up in a cloth. The older man looks down, offering the boy an affectionate pat on the head.

“Don’t worry, son.”

Another man leads the boy away as the father climbs back up onto the bunker, several rifles slung over his back.  
  
In front of the bunker, across the field, other farmers are lighting torches, enough to line the entirety of the forest’s edge.

“What have we gotten ourselves into?” Sam murmurs, moving forward.

“I don’t think we should be outside during night hours, Sam.” Dean hikes his bag up on his shoulder. “This doesn’t feel right.”

“We’re headed there.” Sam points to a grand manor home sitting atop a hill, the windows are aglow, casting a warm picture against the gray backdrop of impending night.

**Van Tassel House**

Sam sets down his bags on the porch of the stately home. The length of the porch is lined with jack-o-lanterns, glowing orange.

Dean shoves an elbow into his brother’s ribs, drawing his attention to a couple, lustfully wrapped around each other in a dark corner of the porch. Sam clears his throat, mumbling an apology and opening the door. A shaft of light illuminates the kissing duo, both brothers memorizing their faces for future reference.

The front door opens to reveal the foyer and main hall. There’s a harvest party in progress, the town is gathered, music playing in the background. Men and women are enjoying food and drink, talking quietly in groups as Sam and Dean make their way through the celebration.

Dean stops a young woman, smiling with brazen charm. “Pardon our intrusion, we’re seeking Baltus Van Tassel.”

“In the parlor sir, farther on,” she nods, glancing back to him.  
  
Ahead they find a large group of men, women, and children in a circle, taunting a blindfolded woman, you, being spun around by a barrel-chested man.

-

You can feel your head roll as Brom spins you, again and again, his large hands lingering on your shoulders for longer than necessary. Suddenly he releases you, and everyone goes quiet, avoiding your searching outstretched hands.

You circle slowly, the blindfold tightly covering your eyes, chanting the refrain that makes the children and even some of the women shiver with pleasurable fright. They stifle their giggles as you reach out, grasping at the air. “The Pickety Witch, the Pickety Witch, who’s got a kiss for the Pickety Witch?”

Lunging forward, you grab empty air, narrowly missing Brom as the crowd snickers. Dean glances back, noting the couple from the porch making their way back into the party.  
  
Sam is leading the way, trying to pass through the crowd to reach the far door.

You reach out, only to meet the solid frame of a warm body beneath your hands as the room goes silent. You’ve no idea that the room is quiet because you’ve grabbed onto a stranger. After all, silence is the point of the game, to avoid your capture.

Your hand pats the chest in front of you, he’s a man and he’s large. Reaching up you touch Sam’s face.

Sam’s looks to Dean who just grins back.  
  
“A kiss, a kiss!” a child calls out.

“She has to guess first,” yells another woman. Dean watches the man who was just outside with another woman, slip his arm around the wifely matron standing beside him. He’s only been here ten minutes and he’s already confirmed an extramarital affair.  
  
Your fingers trail across the strong jaw of the unknown man before you. You’ve no idea who it is, so you take a guess. “Is it…Theodore?”  
  
The crowd laughs and Sam clears his throat. “Pardon ma’am. I am a stranger here.”  
  
A stranger? You smile, excited at the prospect. “Have a kiss on account then.”

Standing on the tips of your toes, you stretch up, placing a kiss at his jaw, then take off your blindfold to reveal a breathtakingly handsome man standing before you. There’s a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, his bright eyes shining. But his entire expression changes when he gets a clear look at your face.

For a fleeting moment, Sam flounders, stricken by the sight of you, his composure failing him as he stares at you, somewhat stunned.

You glance down at his hand, finding no ring on his finger.

“I…um, I am looking for Baltus Van Tassel,” he manages, never looking away.

“You’re in luck.” You smile, eyes locked on each other. “I am his daughter. Y/N Van Tassel.”   
  
“And who are you, friend? We have not heard your name yet.” Brom steps forward.

Sam gives you one last look before turning his attention to the man, roughly matching his height and size, who’s clearly unhappy with his presence.

“I have not said it. Excuse me…” Sam tries to move forward.

Brom grabs at Sam’s collar as Sam stares at him, confused at this overreaction.

“Brom!” You shout, tugging on his arm. He’s always had a delusion that he has some claim to you, but in reality, there is no love connection between you, there never will be.

“You need some manners.” Brom hisses.

“You need to release my brother.” Dean steps forward and the crowd steps back, leaving the three men in the center of the room.

“Come, come.” There’s a chuckle from the back of the room. It’s your father, Baltus. “We want no raised voices on this happy occasion.”

“Father,” you gesture toward Brom.

“It is only to raise the spirits during this dark time that I and my good wife are giving this little party.” Your stepmother stands behind your father, looking on with silent judgment. Brom releases Sam, stepping back and you relax.

Sam shakes off the confrontation, just happy to have a focal point, somewhere to concentrate other than your wonderful face and full bosom.

“Young sirs, you are welcome, even if you are selling something!” He chuckles, patting his belly.

“Thank you.” Sam smoothes a hand through his hair. “I am Constable Sam Winchester, this is my brother, Constable Dean Winchester. We are sent to you from New York with authority to investigate the murders in Sleepy Hollow.”

This news seems to have quite the effect as the entire room goes still. You give both men the appraisal they deserve, they are rather wonderful examples of the male gender. Smart and handsome is an elusive pairing in a village as small as this one.

“What good are Constables?” Reverend Steenwyck pipes up, unable to contain his outburst.  
  
“Reverend.” Lady Van Tassel, your stepmother, gives the Clergyman a reproachful look, moving forward towards the brothers. “Sleepy Hollow is grateful to you, Constables. I hope you will honor this house by remaining with us until-”

“Until you’ve made an arrest!” Brom snorts.

To both Sam and Dean’s surprise, this gets a nervous laugh. Your father frowns and Brom snorts but all you can do is look at Constable Sam Winchester with renewed interest. He’s to stay in your home, a fact that brings interesting possibility.

Sam can feel you watching him as if he has a sixth sense that’s activated only for you. His brother, Dean, is the one who catches you appraising Sam like a prize pig, trying to hide his amusement as you look away with a sly smile.  
  
Baltus turns to his wife, “Well spoken!” Then turns to Sam and Dean. “Come, gentlemen. We’ll get you settled. Play on! Let the party resume.”  
  
The fiddlers strike up the music as you watch the two men leave the room.


	3. Three

**Van Tassel House - Sam’s Room**

The sounds of the festive music rise up from the first floor as Sam unpacks his bags. He carefully arranges his books, then empties his medical case, making sure that all his instruments survived the trip unharmed.

There’s a knock at the door, and Sam looks up to find the face of the young woman from the porch. He watches as she sets a pitcher of water on his washstand, her cheeks blushed pink.

“Thank you.” Sam offers her a kind word. “Please tell Mr. Van Tassel we’ll be down in a moment.”  
  
“I will, sir.” She bows her head, moving toward the door. She stops for a moment, looking as if she’s summoning all her courage. “Thank God you are here!”  
  
Sam watches her leave, surprised by her emotion. This place is full of the unexpected.

Dean’s room is next to his, they’re tucked away into guest bedrooms on the third floor. There’s a thought fluttering in the recesses of his brain, he wonders where you sleep. If you’ll be near and if he’ll get a chance to speak with you again.

There’s a rap at the door and Dean saunters in, looking around, seemingly displeased. “Your room is larger than mine.”

Van Tassel House - Parlor

The Winchesters make their way downstairs, stopping in the hall.

“Did you see the reaction when we announced the reason we’re here?” Dean cocks an eyebrow.

“They’re not even attempting subtlety.” Sam shrugs, listening to the raised voices.

“What in the name of all that is holy is going on here?” Dean whispers, looking behind him, ensuring their privacy. They’re just outside the parlor, collecting themselves before they meet with the village council.

“I have no idea.” Sam raises his brow.

“All the way from New York!”

The voices can be heard from inside the room, the brothers falling silent to listen.

“A waste of time!”

“What can they do for us?”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” comes the familiar tone of Baltus Van Tassel, apparently the only voice of reason.

“Time to find out,” Sam nods, making his way into the room.

“Excellent! Come in!” Baltus motions to Sam and Dean when he spots them in the doorway.

Lady Van Tassel is pouring drinks and the servant girl who was in Sam’s room, Sarah, is placing a pipe in its cradle next to Baltus.

As Sarah goes to leave the room she walks past the man she was on the porch with when they arrived. He’s already introduced himself as Doctor Lancaster. He trails his hand against her buttocks, believing that he’s acting stealthily, but Lady Van Tassel catches the touch, as do the Winchesters.

The music from the party is faintly audible, and all five men in the room are sporting sour expressions, save for Balthus.

Balthus turns to his wife, patting her arm. “Leave us, my dear. Please check on Y/N.”  
  
Sam looks to Dean, who cocks his head.

“I’m Constable Dean Winchester,” Dean instroces him with a sweep of his hand. “This is my brother, Constable Sam Winchester.”

“So,” Sam begins, looking around the room. “Three persons murdered. First, Peter Van Garrett and his son Dirk Van Garrett, both of them strong capable men, found together, decapitated. A week later, the Widow Winship, also decapitated. We will need to ask you many questions, but first let me ask - is anyone suspected?”

Baltus looks at Sam as if he’s speaking another language. “I don’t understand you.”

Dean clears his throat and Sam glances to his brother. “I said, is any one person suspect in these acts?”  
  
The men in the room stir in their seats looking at each other as if to say I told you so.

“Constables, how much have your superiors explained to you?” Baltus asks.

Dean leans forward, “Only that the three were slain in open ground and their heads found severed from their bodies.”

“The heads were not found severed,” Reverend Steenwyck interjects. “The heads were not found at all.”

“The heads are gone?” Sam clarifies, surprised by this new detail.

Hardenbrook, the town notary, stomps his foot, getting the attention of the Constables. His voice is broken as he explains. “They were taken. Taken by the Headless Horseman. Taken back to hell.”

Sam pauses, starting to speak, then stopping as he looks to his brother. “Pardon me?”

“Perhaps you both should sit down.” Baltus gestures to the open spots on the sofa. He methodically pours the Constables glasses of whiskey, taking his pipe in hand as he begins his tale.

“The Horseman was a Hessian mercenary, sent to our shores by German princes to keep Americans under the yoke of England. But unlike his compatriots who came for money, the Horseman came for love of carnage and he was not like the others…”  
  
“He rode a giant black steed named Daredevil. He was infamous for taking his horse hard into battle… chopping off heads at full gallop. To look upon him made your blood run cold, for he had filed down his teeth to sharp points, to add to the ferocity of his appearance.”  
  
“This butcher did not meet his final end till the winter of seventy-nine. It was not far from here in our Western Woods. He happened upon two young girls gathering firewood. The girls stood frozen in fear but one managed to make enough noise to alert the soldier’s encamped nearby to his presence. The soldiers and the Hessian battled, steel against steel, head’s rolling. One of the soldiers managed a debilitating blow. They cut off his head with his own sword. To this day, the Western Woods is a haunted place where brave men will not venture, for what was planted in the ground that day was a seed of evil. And so it has been for twenty years. But now the Hessian has awoken, he is on a rampage, cutting off heads where he finds them.”  
  
Sam sits back, shakes off the reverie of the tale. Dean takes a gulp from his glass, mouth forming a tight line as he holds back a chuckle.

“Are you…” Sam starts looking from one man to the next. “Are you saying this is what you believe?”  
  
“Seeing is believing!” Hardenbrook thrusts his finger into the air, his body shaking. Baltus places a hand on his shoulder to calm him. 

Doctor Lancaster raises his brow. “No one knows why the Hessian has chosen this time to return from the grave.”  
  
“Satan has called forth one of his own,” Reverend Steenwyck chimes in. He’s standing next to a side table and picks up the hefty Van Tassel family bible. “They tell me you have brought books Constable Winchester, and trappings of scientific investigation. This is the only book I recommend you study.”  
  
He drops the Bible on the table in front of Dean who gingerly lifts the front cover – revealing a page covered with ink. Writing which he will remember to look at later – then he snaps out of all this nonsense.  
  
“Reverend Steenwyck,” Dean smiles good-naturedly, patting his own chest. “Gentlemen, murder needs no ghost come from the grave. Which of you have laid eyes on this Headless Horsemen?”  
  
“Others have,” Hardenbrook points a shaky finger toward them. “Many others.”  
  
Sam allows himself a skeptical smirk.  
  
“You will see him too if he comes again. The men of the village are posted to watch for him.” Baltus assures the constables.  
  
“With due respect,” Sam chuckles. “We have murders in New York without the benefit of ghouls and goblins.”  
  
“You are a long way from New York, sir,” sighs Baltus who seems to be losing steam.  
  
“A century at least. The assassin is a man of flesh and blood, and we will discover him.” Sam’s promise short, no one is the room appears convinced.

“How do you propose to do so?” the Reverend persists, indignant.  
  
“By discovering his reason. It is what we call the motive,“ Dean explains.

Sam’s nodding in agreement. “This mystery will not resist investigation by the Winchesters.”  
  
  
**Van Tassel House - Y/N’s Room**

You’re sitting in front of your vanity mirror. Lady Van Tassel is brushing your hair, counting the strokes. This is something your mother used to do for you, and it’s a comfort to have your stepmother perform the same task.  
  
“I must admit, I am a bit disappointed.” You stare into the mirror. “Our first visitors from New York and their time here is to be occupied by nothing but murder and mayhem.”

“I’m sure there will be time for conversation regarding other topics.” The two of you lock eyes in the mirror, grinning for a moment before there’s a soft knock at the door and Lady Van Tassel gives you the hairbrush, going to answer it.  
  
She opens the door to Sarah. “That constable, the tall one, he wants the Bible, mum.”

“Bible?” Lady Van Tassel asks, face blank.  
  
“I’ll bring it to him.” You take the opportunity that presents itself. Sarah dips a curtsy and goes. Lady Van Tassel gives you a friendly raised eyebrow. “What? I’m curious.”

“Curiosity can be dangerous.” She warns, her tone still playful. “Don’t let your father catch you in his room.”

“I won’t.”

**Van Tassel House - Sam’s Room**  
  
Sam is surrounded by his books, including his father’s journal, none of which are helping, there has been no early breakthrough.

There are two soft knocks on the door but he doesn’t look up, focused on the text in front of him. “Yes, come in.”  
  
You inch into the room, carrying the family bible. He’s engrossed in whatever he’s reading, this handsome stranger here to save the village, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. He is even more handsome now that you have time to give him the inspection he deserves.

“Thank you, just leave it on the reading stand,” he instructs and you set the bible down as directed. “That will be all - no, tell me about that big brute who seems to be Miss Y/N’s-”

Sam glances up, seeing you and has a physical reaction. His feet crash to the floor as he sits up quickly, knocking papers to the floor as his cheeks flush pink.  
  
“Forgive me, I-I asked Sarah to bring me…”

“So your clever books have failed and you turn to the bible after all,” you smile, watching as he stands up, taking stock of his large frame and broad shoulders.  
  
He scoffs, his eyes narrowing. “I see we are talked about downstairs.”  
  
“In passing only. We have many things to talk about even in this backward place,” you volley back, letting your eyes linger long enough to indicate interest.  
  
“I am sorry,” Sam places a hand over his heart. “Please excuse my manners. I am not used to-”

“Female company?” you finish.   
  
“I was going to say the niceties of society.” He chuckles, flustered but seemingly happy at your presence, a smile plastered across his face.  
  
“How can you avoid society in New York? How I should love the opera and theaters and to go dancing. Is it wonderful?” you ask, unable to hide your unbridled enthusiasm. You’ve always craved to be part of the modern world.  
  
“Perhaps.” There is a sadness in his smile. “If one has a someone to enjoy it with.”

“Surely there are things to do on one’s own,” you ponder. “The art museum as an example?”  
  
“If you’re so inclined,” Sam agrees, nodding softly.  
  
“I would have thought you more well versed, do you have nothing to teach me?” There’s a deliberate playfulness in your question and his eyebrows shoot up as the realization hits him.

But he ignores your implications like the good gentleman that he is.  
  
“Perhaps I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” He steps closer, eyes narrowing. “Tell me, do you believe the Van Garretts and the Widow Winship were murdered by a headless horseman?”

You’re unable to resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Not everyone here believes it is the Horseman.”

He seems to like that response, his sparkling eyes falling over your body, before recovering. “Good.”

“Some say it is the witch of the Western Woods who has made a pact with Lucifer,” you offer matter-of-factly.  
  
Sam sighs, shaking his head. “There are no witches or galloping ghosts either! Is everyone in this village in thrall to superstition?”

“Why are you so frightened of magic Constable Winchester? Not all magic is black. There are ancient truths in these woods which have been forgotten in your city parks.”  
  
“If they are truths they are not magic.” His expression falls serious.

“You are foolish.” You’ve got more argument in you, not ready to leave him just yet. “When there is a fever in the house, it is well known that willow-herb roots and a crow’s foot must be boiled in the milk of a pure white goat with special charms uttered over the fire and the fever abates,” you counter, roused by his willingness to debate you.  
  
“Next time try the herbs without the rest.” He glances at the clock, seeing the time and shifts uncomfortably. “Now I must ask you to excuse me, it’s very late and I’m not sure it’s appropriate for you to be in my room at such an hour.”  
  
“I will gladly take my leave. I should not have interrupted our town’s savior. Good night. And as to your first question, that big brute you were asking about has proposed to me.” You cross your arms over your chest.  
  
Sam’s face stiffens, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I am happy for you.”  
  
“Proposed to me several times,” you follow up with a faint smile, watching as he processes this ambiguous statement. You turn on your heels, leaving the room and shutting the door behind you.  
  
He watches you go, staring at the door after it’s closed. He never expected a woman as beautiful as you to be hidden away in this quiet little village. And he certainly didn’t expect your quick tongue and forceful opinions. It’s been a long time since someone of the fairer sex has piqued his interest.

He moves on to the business of the Bible, opening the front cover. On the endpaper is a family tree going back a hundred years in various faded inks and handwriting.

He studies this new information. You were born in 1777 to Baltus’s first wife who died in 1797. It appears that Lady Van Tassel is Baltus’s second wife. He continues reading, coming to something even more interesting. The family tree has a Van Garrett in it, the husband of Baltus’s father’s sister.

“Van Garrett,” he mutters, walking over and pounding a fist on the wall to the next room. “Dean!”

There’s a faint sound coming from somewhere in the distance, he listens intently but there’s nothing more.  
  
**  
The Fields**  
  
The streets are empty. There’s nary a sound, except a sinister rumbling in the distance.

Jonathan Masbath looks out from the wooden bunker, feeling the rumble of the ground beneath his feet. The torches burn bright along the forest line. Several deer stampede out from the forest and across the field.  
  
Jonathan watches, wide-eyed as a horrible, silent stillness falls over the field. A thick fog is creeping from out of the woods, rolling outward, overtaking each torch as the mist snakes up snuffing out the flames one by one, darkness descending along the forest edge.   
  
He picks up his rifle, the sight trained along the treeline.  
  
“Come out, devil…come,” he whispers, hands shaking.

He senses the devil before he sees him, his rifle firing at nothing as he takes off in the opposite direction on foot. Fleeing across the field to the opposite edge, he sprints through the forest glancing back in terror, thunderous hoofbeats behind him.

Well behind him he gets a glimpse of a huge black horse that’s gone almost before he can be sure he saw it. He pushes forward through thorny bushes, jagged branches catching his skin and bloodying his clothes.

He bursts forward from the brier patch, tumbling out onto a trail. The hooves of the black horse rip through the underbrush, hoofbeats deafening . A spur digs into the snorting steed’s already bleeding flank.  
  
The pursuer’s gloved hand draws a sword, blade blazing in the moonlight.  
  
On the trail, Jonathan runs onward. The shrill whistle of a sword swing swooshing through the night as the steed gallops past.  
  
Jonathan is still running when his head lolls back at an impossible angle and tumbles off his shoulders as his headless body hits the dirt.


	4. Four

**Livery Stable - Early Morning**  
  
The stables belong to Mr. Killian, a dashing rustic man and father of a young family. Dean likes him, though he does not think much of the horse Killian is offering him, an old nag.

“His name’s Gunpowder.” Killian pats the steed.

“A brave name,” Dean concedes “but…have you got something a little younger?… Taller?”

“Faster?” Killian nods.

“Yes.”

“A horse cut to dash?”  
  
“Yes!” Dean clasps his hands together, eyes his brother’s superior horse.  
  
“No, I haven’t.” Killian chuckles. “Not at this price.”

“His horse is larger…” Dean looks to Sam.

“He is larger.”

“Well,” Dean snorts. “I’m sure he’ll do very well. Thank you, Mr. Killian.”

“Good luck, sir. If you need help, call my name.”  
  
“Much appreciated.”  
  
Killian’s son Thomas, a small boy, is feeding one of the horses.  
  
Mrs. Killian is at the door of their small home. She’s seeing a woman out of her door, a pregnant woman, handing her a bunch of herbs.  
  
Mrs. Killian takes the woman by the shoulders. “Mind you rub them well in the breach, Mrs. Sherry. Don’t worry, it’ll be easy as shelling peas.”  
  
As the pregnant woman leaves, Beth calls over her shoulder, turning to go into the house. “Thomas! Come inside!”  
  
She retreats into the house, a modest notice posted on the door: Knock before entering - Elizabeth Killian, MIDWIFE.  
  
Killian turns to his son. “Go off home for your breakfast, Tom. Kiss your mother once for you and twice for me.”  
  
As the boy goes, Sam has a thought.  
  
“Mr. Killian,” Sam steps forward. “I was thinking about the old widow-”  
  
“Old widow, sir?” Killian looks confused.  
  
“Widow Winship,” Sam clarifies.

“Who told you she was old? She was comely. Widowed young and dead before the bloom was off her.”  
  
Sam is surprised by this new information but before he can react further a far off gunshot is heard. A signal followed by the distant sight of a man on horseback, hurrying and shouting, waving his rifle.

“Murder, murder!” the rider shouts. “The Horseman has killed again!”

Jonathan Masbath’s murder has been discovered.

  
**  
The Western Woods**

A large group of men ride out to the murder site.  
  
Baltus, a dullard man called Van Ripper, who is the original rider who found the body, followed by Brom, and a cart driven fast by Philipse, Doctor Lancaster and various villagers.  
  
Way behind, trying to keep up on Gunpowder, comes Dean with Sam trotting beside him.  
  
Baltus takes charge of posting armed villagers to keep an eye toward the forest.  
  
“Mr. Miller,” he assigns. “Ride back for the coffin cart. The rest of you keep a sharp lookout.”

Both Winchesters are just arriving. The others are watching as Doctor Lancaster turns over the headless corpse of Jonathan Masbath. He straightens the body reverently. Everyone is shocked and spooked, looking fearfully into the surrounding forest. Dean’s horse kicks the mud and every man nearly jumps out of his boots.

“A fine looking animal, Winchester,” Brom laughs.  
  
Sam and Dean dismount in tandem, ignoring Brom. They look from the body to each other in silent agreement. New York was never quite like this.  
  
Doctor Lancaster covers his mouth with a cloth, standing over the corpse. “The fourth victim, Jonathan Masbath.”  
  
“The head?” Sam asks, stepping around the murder scene.  
  
“Taken,” Philipse whispers.  
  
“Taken.” Dean nods, standing next to his brother, looking intently at the headless body.  
  
Doctor Lancaster seems unprofessionally jittery. He grasps Philipse by the arm. Philipse shakes him off and pulls out a flask. Sam watches out of the corner of his eye, their behavior seems odd. Then he turns his attention back to the matter at hand.  
  
“It is…interesting. Very interesting.” Sam crouches down to get a closer look.

“What is?” Baltus inquires.  
  
“In headless corpse cases of this sort, generally the head is removed to prevent identification of the body,” Sam expounds, picking up a stick and poking at the severed flesh.  
  
Baltus cocks his head, puzzled. “But we know this is Jonathan Masbath.”  
  
“Exactly.” Dean nods. “So, why was the head removed?”  
  
They all wait for enlightenment.

“Why?” Baltus asks the obvious.  
  
“We don’t know.” Sam stands up. “But the answer will no doubt reveal the motive.”

They all watch Sam to see what he will do. Philipse takes nips from his flask.  
  
“You have moved the body?” Sam asks, suddenly urgent.  
  
“I did,” Doctor Lancaster confirms.

Sam rolls his eyes and Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “You must never move the body!”  
  
“Why not?” Lancaster looks bewildered.  
  
“Evidence.” Muttering, Sam steps carefully over the ground near the body. Dean joins him as they silently search the ground, finding a huge, deep hoofprint. Sam kneels, pulling his satchel off his shoulder and taking out a bowl, bottle of water and a bag of powder.  
  
The others watch, finding this activity bizarre, as Sam begins mixing a portion of plaster.  
  
“What is that potion?” Brom sneers unable to hide his contempt.  
  
“You are the blacksmith, Brom.” Sam looks up, filling the print with runny plaster. “Ever shoe a horse with a hoof this large?”  
  
“It’s big,” Brom concedes with a shrug.  
  
Sam shoulders his satchel, walks all around, studying the ground, kicking away leaves. Then he lopes, bounding with long legs, the watchers are astonished by his antics as he leaps from hoofprint to hoofprint.  
  
Doctor Lancaster turns to Philipse, “He’s a fool.”  
  
“He’s a fool and we’re damn fools, but death will make us all equal.” Philipse laments and Dean rolls his eyes.  
  
“The stride is gigantic.” Dean watches his brother intently.  
  
Sam stops, turns, bounding back the way he came. “The attacker rode Masbath down… turned his horse…came back…” Sam stops, looking up. “Came back to claim the head.”  
  
“So,” Dean purses his lips, resting a hand on his hip. “Head taken, big horse. Does this man have any enemies?  
  
“Well, someone didn’t like him,” Philipse offers.  
  
But Sam has already latched on to something. “Van Ripper, show me where the neck rested.”  
  
Van Ripper points. Sam opens his satchel, taking out a bottle of green powder. He uncorks it, sprinkling a thin layer of powder on the dirt, waiting.  
  
Dean snorts as the power begins to bubble.

“A chemical reaction, it shows there was just a smear of blood, no more,” Sam explains.  
  
“I didn’t see any,” Van Ripper confirms.  
  
Sam pulls odd spectacles from his satchel, wire-framed with many lenses. Then he wields an instrument, a delicate scissor mechanism that tapers off into tiny jaws. He uses it to pick at the flesh.  
  
“Dean, look at this.”

“What is it?” Baltus creeps forward, wary of getting too close.  
  
“The wound was cauterized in the very instant…as though the blade itself were red hot…and yet, no blistering, no scorched flesh.”  
  
They all look worried.  
  
“The Devil’s fire!” Philipse shouts, raising a finger.

Both constables exchange a look.  
  
  
**The Cemetery**

The town is gathered for Jonathan Masbath’s funeral. Steenwyck stands at the open grave, reading from the Bible.  
  
“Be sober, be vigilant. As it sayeth in the book of Peter, chapter five, verse eight. Because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.”  
  
People whisper, stealing glances at Sam and Dean.

Sam stands next to Baltus and Lady Van Tassel, both brothers, watching, observing.  
  
Young Masbath stands with his head bowed, mourning his father. Brom stands beside you as you wipe tears from your cheeks. Brom puts his arm around you and Sam’s stomach tightens.

Once the funeral is over Sam walks with the Van Tassels. Baltus holds your hand. Young Masbath runs to catch up with Dean.  
  
“Mister Constable, sir.”  
  
Dean stops, turning to the young man, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You are Young Masbath?”  
  
“I was Young Masbath, but now the only one. Masbath at your service, in honor, bound to avenge my father.”  
  
“Well,” Dean gives the boy’s shoulder a squeeze. “One-and-only Masbath, I thank you, but your mother will need you more than we will.”  
  
“My mother is in heaven, sir, and has my father now to care for her. But you have no one to serve you. I am your man.”  
  
“And a brave man, too,” Sam chimes in.

“Indeed,” Dean agrees. “But we cannot be the ones to look after you. I am sorry for your loss, young Mister Masbath.”  
  
Sam moves away, watching his brother and young Masbath as his sleeve is plucked by Philipse.

“Constable…”   
  
“Mr. Philipse?” Sam watches the man look around anxiously as if someone might be eavesdropping.  
  
“Something you should know. Jonathan Masbath was not the fourth victim but the fifth!”  
  
“The fifth?” Sam leans forward, whispering in confirmation.  
  
“Aye,” Philipse confirms. “Five victims in four graves.”

“But who?” Sam doesn’t get an answer. Philipse sees that Steenwyck has noticed the encounter. He breaks off and scuttles away.  
  
Sam turns his gaze toward the fresh grave of Jonathan Masbath, and three more graves almost as recent: The Van Garretts are just receiving their brand new headstones, and Widow Winship’s grave is marked for the present by a simple wooden cross with her name on it.  
  
Sam sees Killian and nods to him. “Mr. Killian…I will need the help you offered.”

“I have something I need to take care of,” Dean pats his brother’s shoulder. “Why don’t you get started without me.”

  
  
**The Stables**  
  
Dean lifts the lid off a large feed bin half full of horse feed. Young Masbath is curled up inside like a mouse in a nest. Homeless.  
  
“Find a place in the Van Tassel’s servant quarters. Wake me before dawn. I hope you have a strong stomach.” Dean walks away before he hears the boys reply.  
  
“Thank you, sir.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Cemetery**

The lid of a muddy coffin is wrenched open, containing a headless corpse. The coffin is on the ground next to the hole marked by the headstone of Peter Van Garrett.

Killian holds a lantern and a spade. Sam, holding a handkerchief to his face, peers into the open coffin. Sam is in shirtsleeves and sweating holding a shovel. Young Masbath is watching uneasily. This is why Dean insisted Young Masbath would need a strong stomach as he gags, nearly vomiting.  
  
At Sam’s nod, Killian replaces the lid. Killian has two men with him. There are two more coffins and two more piles of dirt, one coffin for Dirk Van Garrett and one for Widow Winship.  
  
Sam moves to the second coffin. It contains a headless corpse. Just the one. Sam nods, and the lid is replaced.  
  
The third coffin, the Widow’s, is opened by one of the men. Sam takes a lantern and looks expectantly as the lid comes off. The Widow’s headless corpse is alone in the coffin.  
  
Sam pauses as the lid is about to be replaced, he stops it.  
  
“Wait,” he holds out his hand, peering closer.  
  
Sam takes out a small penknife and cuts through the shroud, revealing her naked belly, dead grey flesh.

There’s one thought reeling through his head as he looks at the sword stab through the decaying stomach. Was she pregnant? There’s no way for him to tell, at least not out here in the muck.

Suddenly there is a screech, which seems to come from the corpse. Every man in attendance, including Sam, bolt upright.

“There,” Sam points. Off in the distance, there’s a corporeal dark figure holding a swinging lantern. For a moment it appears as if a ghost is approaching, only to reveal the Reverend Steenwyk who is stomping toward them in the downpour, shrieking in outrage.

“Sacrilege! Sacrilege!” the Reverend shrieks, raising his free hand into the air.  
  
Sam sighs, shaking his head. “ Science! Science! Reverend Steenwyck. Someone in Sleepy Hollow is using the Horseman story for his own murderous purpose, and I intend to dig it out.”  
  
Steenwyck froths, looking terrified at Sam’s declaration and backs off.

  
  
**Doctor’s Residence - Medical Room**  
  
Sam and Killian, helped by Young Masbath carry the Widow’s muddy coffin inside. Doctor Lancaster watches in horror, sweating profusely, unsettled.  
  
“This is most irregular, Constable.” The doctor holds a handkerchief to his mouth.  
  
“I should hope so. But in this case, necessary” Sam watches as the coffin is set on a table in the middle of the room.

Sam takes a rolled velvet cloth from his satchel, unrolling it to reveal surgical instruments, some particularly strange, such as modified rib spreaders and curved clamps.  
  
Sam rolls up his sleeves. “I will need to operate.”  
  
“Operate?” Doctor Lancaster is white as a sheet. “She’s dead!”  
  
Dean chuckles, offering, “when he says operate, he means, of course, he’ll need the operating table. Lay her out, please.” Dean turns to Young Masbath. “Go on, nothing to be afraid of.”

When Killian and Young Masbath lay out the corpse, Sam opens their father’s journal, flipping through the pages as he studies the sketches in the ledger.

“There is a common thread between these victims.” Sam surmises, his finger trailing down the page.

“And what’s that?” Lancaster inches forward.

“Well,” Sam looks up his brother. “We don’t know yet. That’s why we’re here. Once we find the common thread the motive will reveal itself.”  
  
Dean leans in to watch Sam examine the corpse as Masbath retreats to the corner, ill at ease.   
  
“Once more, the neck wound is cauterized. The sword thrust to the stomach, the same as the others. But to what purpose?” Sam glances to Dean, gingerly feeling the corpse’s stomach. The doctor watches, riveted, and Dean makes a note. His body language is telling, the old man knows something he hasn’t divulged.

“To what is your purpose, is the question,” Lancaster quips.

“What manner of instruments are those?” Lancaster peers closer.

“Some of my own design.” Clearing his throat, Sam raises a brow. He sorts through the instruments, looking to the corpse and conferring with Dean.

“You’ll need to open her up, no way around it.” Dean looks toward the boy who’s nearly gagging at the mention of such a horror. “We’ll have to ask you all to step outside. Thank you for your help, but if you do not mind my brother needs his concentration. It suffers when he’s observed.”

The men clear out and Sam pulls out a book of human anatomy from his bag, open to a pre-marked page. Picking up a scalpel he looks to Dean and they exchange a look of now or never as he cuts into the widow’s belly.  
  
-  
  
Doctor Lancaster is waiting outside, but he’s been joined by a crowd of men including Reverend Steenwyck and Notary Hardenbrook. They’re talking amongst themselves, appalled and aghast that the Constables would unearth a grave.  
  
The door opens and the Winchesters step out, wiping at blood covered clothes. All attention is on them and Dean turns to Sam.

“We’ve attracted an audience brother.”

“We have finished our examination,” Sam addresses the crowd.

“What in God’s holy name have you done?” Steenwyck is horrified. He points from Magistrate Philipse to the constables. “You are the word of law here! Put them in irons!”  
  
Philipse and the Winchesters exchange a look as Philipse nips from his flask. “And what did you find out, Constables?”

“We can confirm that there were not four victims but five. The Widow Winship was with child.” Sam nods, looking from man to man, watching for any reactions as the crowd murmurs.

“What of it?” Doctor Lancaster is visibly upset. “She should have been left to make her peace with God and not cut to bits by the Constabulary!”

“We don’t like it any more than you. But it was necessary.” Dean holds up both hands in a sign of peace. “The sword was thrust into the womb and no farther. A symbolic murder. It would appear we are dealing with a madman.”

**Covered Bridge - Later That Night**

Sam and Dean ride slowly beside each other across the covered bridge. The pale moon casts just enough light to illuminate the way. They’re lost in conversation as the clopping of hoofbeats is heard on the bridge behind them.

The brothers look at each other, both pulling their pistols. The hoofbeats stop, there’s silence as they look around, listening to the gentle chirp of crickets.  
  
“Is someone there?” Sam shouts, voice commanding. He learned a long time ago to never display fear, even when he feels it in his very bones.

“This place is getting under our skin,” Dean chuckles, tucking his gun into the waist of his trousers.

“I refuse to fall victim to their hysteria.”

“They’re scared,” Dean shrugs as they trot on. “Scared and uneducated.”

“There’s a healthy fear of the unknown but they take it beyond reason.”

“Careful, you sound like a snob. You don’t want to offend Miss Van Tassel with your ravings of logic and science.”

“Why would you think I am concerned about her opinion?” Sam snaps to attention in a vain attempt to conceal his interest. It’s no use, Dean knows, he always does.

“Because you sweat every time we’re near her,” Dean quips and Sam’s grateful for the darkness so his brother can’t see the blush in his cheeks. “We could stay, you know. We’ll put this Horseman business to rest and then there’s no reason we can’t linger for a few more days. I could enjoy the countryside, go hunting and you could enjoy…other things.”

“Perhaps.” Sam grins, “You know, even the lovely Miss Van Tassel believes in magic. My God, this place is a hotbed for delirium-”

From behind there is the clear sound of a horse snorting and the hoofbeats resume. Sam and Dean stop in their tracks, turning to look back. A figure appears, a figure on horseback slowly stepping out of the darkness of the bridge.

“Who are you?” Sam calls.

“Reveal yourself!” Dean shouts, raising his gun.

The horsebound figure comes into the moonlight, revealing a gargantuan black horse, smoke seemingly rising from its nostrils. On the beast’s back is a cloaked figure, headless.

“Oh my God,” Sam breathes slowly, unable to believe what his eyes can see.

“He’s real,” Dean whispers, looking from the figure to Sam. “Ride!”

They take off, hooves galloping as fast as the horses are able to carry them with the figure in pursuit. Both men whip the reigns faster and faster, but the horseman also picks up speed.   
  
“The forest,” Sam shouts, desperate to get off the main road.

The headless figure lets out a hellish cry of rage as the Winchesters look over their shoulders, tree limbs whipping their arms and legs are they ride through the thick forest.

Before Sam knows what’s happening a horrible face with flaming eyes and mouth is rushing toward him, hitting him square in the face. The impact knocks him clean from the horse, sends him sprawling to the ground in an explosion of ash and cinders.

“Sam!” Dean calls from somewhere behind him as he manages to get to his feet, the pounding of hooves all around him as several horses surround him. Sam looks down at the remnants of the jack-o-lantern and the smoldering trail. Suddenly the horseman is in front of him, Sam reaches for his pistol but it’s been lost in the fall. As he nears the figure throws off his cloak, revealing it as a disguise.

It’s Brom.

Several other men ride up, cackling to one another. Brom also laughs, but when he looks back, the smile leaves his face. He takes grim satisfaction in what he’s done.  
  
Sam’s face is haunted, running with the sweat of fear, shaking from the experience. He’s vaguely aware of blood running down the side of his face.  
  
“_Sam! Sam_!” A faint, familiar voice calls to him as his eyes roll back into his head and the world goes black.

_Sam is standing in the middle of a field just outside a quaint cottage._

_“Sam! Sam!” A beautiful woman appears in the doorway, holding out her arms. She looks like you as Sam first saw you, blindfolded. A young boy, no more than seven, runs toward her with a bunch of wildflowers._

_Suddenly he’s in his childhood kitchen._

_The blindfolded woman is playing the Pickety Witch Game with the young boy he now recognizes as himself. Young Sam is laughing, then scared as she grabs the air looking for him. He’s holding the wildflowers as she seizes him, kissing his cheeks as she takes off her blindfold. It’s not you, it’s his mother with her kind, lovely face._

_Young Sam gives her the flowers and she places several in her hair, laughing and telling him how beautiful they are. She throws the remaining flowers on the fire, crouching and beckoning for him to come closer.  
_

_As the flowers burn they give off smoke fumes which his mother inhales like perfume, closing her eyes in trance. He watches, fascinated as she picks up a twig and starts drawing pictures in the dirt on the floor, strange designs in the layers of ash in front of the hearthstone._  
  
Suddenly Sam turns his head to the door, which is opening, strange though because no one is entering. Then he sees at floor level the family cat has come through the door. A black cat with a white paw.

_Mary seems to be awakened by this, just in time as his father, John - a grim parson all in black, enters. The boy looks up, frightened and then Sam blinks and he’s back in his childhood bedroom._  
  
The black cat is on his bed, watching Mary entertain young Sam, who’s tucked into bed, with a bird-in-a-cage spinning disc toy. He’s amazed and overwhelmingly happy watching his mother spin the toy.  
  
There’s a bright flash of lightning and a mighty boom, the force of the storm sends the window pane flying open into the wall. The black cat leaps off the bed in the flashing light and the toy drops to the bed.

_Young Sam covers his face, terrified and trembling as his mother hugs him close._


	6. Six

**Van Tassel House - Sam’s Room**

Sam is startled awake, frightened and sweating. He lies in bed staring at the ceiling wrapped in the darkness of the night. There’s a candle flickering beside the bed almost completely burned down to the chamberstick and the smell of sweet salve, it’s a tell-tale sign. Dean must’ve dressed his head wound. He gingerly touches his forehead, wincing when he gets close to the gash and shakes sleep away.

It’s dark outside the window. The fall from the horse knocked him for a loop but now he’s able-bodied and not sure he’ll be able to sleep any more. He gets up, dresses and heads out to explore the house at night.

Entering the kitchen, he sets his lantern on the table and sits down to open his father’s ledger. It’s only as he settles in that he notices a faint light coming from down the hall.  
  
-

Most nights you retreat to the sewing room. There’s no one about the house at this hour and your bedroom can often feel like a prison. So after everyone is asleep you sit by the fire and read until the early hours of the morning.

You don’t hear Sam approaching, he’s quiet as a mouse until the door creaks open and you nearly jump out of your skin. For a moment you think it’s your stepmother, only to be met with the face of the handsome Constable.

Slapping the book closed and tucking it in beside you in the chair, you sit at attention, watching him inch inside the door. “You scared me nearly half to death.”  
  
“Pardon my intrusion. I saw a light.” He smiles softly, a wonderful, gentle smile you wouldn’t expect from such a beast of a man.

“It is no intrusion. I come here to read when sleep eludes me.” You can’t help but feel a thrill as he steps closer. “Will you sit with me, Constable Winchester?”

You pat the sofa beside you, watching as he bites his bottom lip. He bows his head in confirmation, then he takes a seat.

“How would your fiance’ feel about you being alone with me?” Sam asks, awaiting the answer with bated breath. He cannot deny his interest in you, especially to himself.

“I believe I told you Brom had proposed, not that I ever accepted.” Looking him over you scoot to the side, making more room. “I would expect more attention to detail from a man of the law, Constable.”  
  
“You must call me Sam,” he offers, leaning close to get a better view of the volume you hid away. “You come here to read books which you must hide?” he grins, tilting his head to read the spine of the book in question. “_The Knights of the Round Table_…isn’t that for children?”  
  
“Not everything is as it appears.” You pick up the large book, taking another, smaller volume from inside. “It was my mother’s book. My father frowned at them when they were hers, he would frown at me now. He believes tales of romance caused the brain fever that killed my mother. She died two years ago come midwinter.”  
  
Sam nods, “I am very sorry. I saw it written in the front of the family bible.”  
  
“The nurse who cared for her during her sickness is the new Lady Van Tassel.”  
  
“There was something else too.” Sam can’t stop the investigator inside him. “Why did no one think to mention that Van Garretts are kit and kin to the Van Tassels?”

“Why because there is hardly a household in Sleepy Hollow that is not connected to every other by blood or marriage. I have more cousins than fingers and toes to count them on.” That thought seems to amuse him, cheeks rounding, dimples appearing. “What?”

“Dean is all the family I have the world.” He looks up, his eyes lingering for a moment too long.

A cock crows outside, dawn is coming soon.

“This land was Van Garrett Land, given to my father when I was in swaddling clothes,” you continue, eager to find any reason to keep him with you. Enjoying this sweet moment of privacy.  
  
“Given by the dead Van Garrett?” he inquires.  
  
“Yes,” you nod. “The Van Garretts were the richest family around these parts even then. When my father brought us to Sleepy Hollow, Van Garrett set him up with an acre, a broken-down cottage, and a dozen Van Garrett hens. My father prospered and built us a new house. I owe my happiness to him. I remember living poor in the cottage. Would you like to see it? I could take you there.”  
  
“Yes. I would like to see where you were as poor as I am.” He grins, unnaturally handsome and you want nothing more than to throw yourself at him.

Sam stands to leave and you stand too, revealing the book you had been reading. You give it a final look before handing it to him.

“Take this. It is my gift to you, Sam.”  
  
He carefully takes it from you, big hands curling around the spine as he reads the title: _A Compendium of Spells, Charms, and Devices of the Spirit World_.  
  
“I am grateful for the gift, but perhaps you should keep it. I have no use for it.” He steps closer to hand it back.  
  
“Are you so certain of everything?” You look at him, purposely holding his stare.

He inspects it, opening the cover and flipping to the back. There’s your name but in different handwriting is also the name Elizabeth Van Tassel.

“This was your mother’s?” He looks up, surprised.

“Keep it close to your heart.” You inch closer, nearer than you should be. “It is sure protection against harm.”  
  
His eyes narrow, looking from you to the book. “Are you so certain of everything?”  
  
“Almost always…” you whisper, tiling your head toward him like a plant hungry for the sun.

His lips meet yours in a single, longing kiss as his hand curls around your arm. He lingers for a fleeting moment, nuzzling his nose into your cheek before pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “I should go. It’s almost dawn and the staff will be waking. Being caught together as day breaks would certainly stir rumors.”

“I’ve never cared what people say about me.” You swim in the feeling of the kiss as he backs away.

“I will see you soon, Y/N.”

**Sleepy Hollow Farmland**

You and Sam make a pretty picture on horseback, riding slowly toward the ruins of the cottage you lived in as a child.

“I saw the photos on your desk,” you mention casually, watching him ride beside you. “Are they your family?”

“Yes, people I have lost.” He offers you a forced smile, hand tightening around the reigns. “My parents and someone I cared for.”

“A lost love?” you ask gently and he nods. “Did you lose her recently?”

“No, it was ten years ago now. But if I’m honest there are days when it feels as if no time has passed at all.”

“The heart heals slowly. There are days when I forget my mother is gone. Just this morning I had a fleeting thought. I wanted to tell her how excited I was to bring you here, only to remember that she is gone.”

“I know those moments as well.” He slows his horse as you approach the cottage. There’s almost nothing left but the hearth and part of a crumbling chimney.

Sam dismounts, turning to offer you a hand and help you off your horse. There’s a thrill at the feeling of his hands on yours and you’re about to let go when you notice little scars on his palm. You take his hand between your own, running your thumbs over the little dimples.

“These are strange,” you look up to him. “What are they?”   
  
“I wish I knew. I’ve had them since I can remember.”

You inspect him for a moment longer, before taking his hand into yours and leading him into the ruins of the cottage.  
  
Sam’s attention is caught by a red cardinal on a branch, much like the bird he had in New York. He reflects a moment, then turns to watch you crouching by the hearth. You look back at him, threading the stem of a flower into your hair.  
  
“I used to play by this hearth. It was my first drawing school and my mother was my teacher.”  
  
Unwittingly, you’re mimicking Sam’s dream. You pick up a twig and start drawing on the hearthstone, just as his mother did.  
  
His blood runs cold but you’re unaware of the effect it’s having on him. Then he notices the few small wildflowers growing in the old fireplace and feels short of breath, leaning against the stones for support.  
  
“Oh, look! I’d forgotten this.” You smile. “See, carved into the fire-back, the Archer.” Using your fingers you clean off the dirt around a simple carving of a man with a Bow and Arrow. “This was from long before we lived here.” You look to Sam, who’s pale as a ghost. “Are you alright?”  
  
He nods but says nothing. You’re about to press him when you spot the cardinal too.

“Look there!” you point. “They are my favorite. I would love to have a tame one, but I wouldn’t have the heart to cage him.  
  
“Then I have something for you.” Sam unslings his satchel, watching your face light up. You’re too beautiful and vibrant a creature to be stuck in a dark place like Sleepy Hollow.

It’s a paper disk with a red bird on one side and an empty cage on the other. Both ends of the disk are pierced by a looped string so that the disk can spin and twist. It was his mother’s gift to him many years ago.

“Come here, let me show you.” He steps behind you, indulging as he presses his chest into your back, arms reaching around your waist. You hum to life at the sensation of his large body curled over yours.

“A cardinal on one side, and an empty cage on the other.” You watch with bated breath as he spins the disk. “And now…”  
  
Once he moves it fast enough the bird appears to be inside the cage. You’re thrilled and excited, tilting back to look up at him. “You can do magic! Teach me!”  
  
“It is not magic. It’s optics,” he chuckles, lowering his mouth to the side of your head, he’s close enough you can feel his breath on your temple. Sam gives you the toy and shows you how to spin it.  
  
“Separate pictures which become one when the picture spins. Like the truth which I must spin here.”  
  
He steps away, shifting to the side and watching while you spin the disk, the bird appears in the cage. “I may keep it?”

“Of course.” He confirms. “I’d give you anything you asked for to see you smile like this.”

His words send a flush to your cheeks and the disk in your hands is momentarily forgotten as you gaze at the handsome man before you.

“Anything?” you ask coyly.

“Anything.” His stare is unyielding, eyes fixed on yours.

“Another kiss?” you inquire, only to have him swooping down to pull you into his arms and his mouth close over your own. There’s a desperate passion that was not there this morning. This kiss stokes a fire in your belly, fanning the flame that his touch sparked in the sewing room.

You moan softly into his mouth, only to have him take advantage as his tongue slides past your lips, gliding, plunging, delving deeper and deeper until you’re breathless.

Before you know what’s happening his hand is on your stomach, pushing you back until you’re flush with the hearth, trapped between cold stone and the heat of his body. He pulls away with a pop, only to move down your jaw, drawing a breathless mewl from your lungs as he nips and sucks at the skin of your neck.

“Touch me,” you pant, fisting your hands in his hair.

Sam doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s wanted to kiss you, to ravage every inch of you, since the first moment he saw you. It’s a desire that’s only grown with time. He groans against the hot, sweating skin in the crook of your neck as his hand finds its way under your dress.

When his knuckles meet the soft skin of your thighs you gasp in response, pressing forward into his touch. Two fingers brush over the thatch of hair at your sex, scooping forward until he finds warm, wet flesh. You must want him as much as he desires you because you’re thoroughly slick.

“Sam,” you moan, spurring him on as those fingers thrust upward into the tightness of your channel. His thumb goes in search of your delicate pearl, sliding back and forth until you nearly squeal, two hands grabbing at his back confirming he’s found his target.

You can feel him inside you, two thick fingers thrusting in and out as he rubs your bud, bringing a wash of pleasure and wanton lust over every inch of you. You can also hear it, the sound of your sex taking his fingers and then the sensation of his mouth biting across the swell of your breasts.

If Sam had any less self-control he’d throw you to the ground and rip this ridiculous dress right off you. He’d fuck you here in the dirt, but he won’t. A woman as sweet as you deserves things like a bed and mattress.

He can feel it when you cum. You whimper, desperate cunt tightening around his knuckles, little sucking clenches that draw him deeper until you’re boneless in his grasp.

He pulls his hand from between your legs, sullied fingers on your throat as he hooks both hands under your jaw and kisses you again and again, swallowing every gasp and sigh until you’re lost in his mouth and his touch.

You spend the better part of the morning enthralled with each other, gentle touches and passionate kisses until the sun rises high overhead and you have no choice but to return home.


	7. Seven

**Philipse House - Night**

Sam and Dean crouch in the shadows, peeking over the edge of a lighted window, watching men pace and argue.

“Can you make out what they’re saying?” Sam whispers.

“Not when you’re talking.” Dean shoves an elbow into his ribs, moving his ear toward the pane of glass.

Magistrate Philipse is packing his bags while Steenwyk, Lancaster, and Hardenbrook are in agitated conference. Their voices are raised but indecipherable.

“Look out!” Dean hisses, both Winchesters sinking to the ground, pressing their backs against the side of the cottage.

Steenwyck comes right to the window as if he has seen something, but merely closes the shutters. The front door opens and Philipse exits, tying his bag to a horse and quickly riding off into the night.

“That’s not suspect.” Dean snorts.

  
  
**Road Outside of Town**  
  
A mounted man is approaching on a heavily loaded pack horse. It’s Magistrate Philipse making his getaway from Sleepy Hollow. Sam and Dean rode ahead not ten minutes before and have been waiting to intercept him. Sam leaps out of the shadows grabbing the bridle of the pack horse.

“What are you doing? Let go!” Philipse shouts, kicking the horse.

“What are you running from, Magistrate Philipse?” Sam thrusts a finger toward him.

“Damn you, Winchester,” the magistrate sputters, still trying to break free.  
  
“Both of you quiet down,” Dean hisses. “You’ll raise the village.”  
  
“You had a mind to help me and now you are leaving,” Sam questions. “Why?”

“Yes, but I am a fool. I put myself in mortal dread of…”

“Of…what?” Dean rolls his eyes.  
  
“Powers against which there is no defense,” Philipse whimpers.  
  
Sam’s not done with this man, there is more he needs to know and no one is leaving until he’s had his fill.

“How did you know the widow was expecting a child?” Sam presses.

“She told me.”  
  
“We are to deduce you are the father,” Dean quips, folding his arms over this chest.  
  
“I hope your deductions serve you better in your contest against the Hessian. I am not the father.”  
  
“Did she tell you the name of the child’s father?” Sam insists.

“Yes, she did.” Philipse is beginning to sweat, looking around him, scanning the line of the woods. “She came to me for advice as the town magistrate.”  
  
There’s the sound of sheep in agitation at some distance but Sam holds Philipse to his story.  
  
“She wanted to protect the rights of her child. I was bound by my oath of office to keep the secret.”  
  
“Do you believe the father killed her?” Dean looks to his brother.  
  
Philipse stares at him in surprise. “The Horseman killed her! You damn fools, do you suppose the Horseman stops to impregnate women?”  
  
“The Horseman?” Sam scoffs. He’s had enough. “How often do I have to tell you there is no Horseman! There never was a Horseman! And there never will be a Horseman!”  
  
Sam grabs him fiercely, pulling on the amulet Philipse wears around his neck.  
  
“Let go! It is my talisman that protects me from the Horseman!”  
  
“You’re a magistrate and your head is full of such nonsense! Now tell me the name of-”  
  
A flock of sheep comes streaming and bleating across the path. The horses go crazy, braying and rearing.

“Sam…” Dean side-eyes his brother, looking toward the forest.

“Don’t start Dean, not this preposterous old-wives tale-”

There’s the distant thundering sound of hoofbeats and the wind kicks up. A flock of bird alights from the woods, flying into the moonlit sky.  
  
“Oh my.” Philipse makes the sign of the cross over his heart. ”Oh my, oh my, oh my.”

Philipse throws himself from the horse, scrambling to his feet and running away. The hoofbeats grow louder as Sam and Dean look to the dark of the road before them. 

The forest explodes open, foliage bending to make way as the Headless Horseman gallops into view atop his black beast.

“That is no costume.” Dean draws his pistol.  
  
Sam is momentarily stunned, unable to believe his eyes. He looks down to draw his flintlock pistol, but the Horseman roars past before he can raise it or Dean can take aim.  
  
Everything happens in what feels like seconds. The Horseman chases Philipse who’s looking over his shoulder, running for his life in a flat sprint.  
  
The Horseman draws his sword.  
  
Philipse gathers his courage and stops, turning. He raises his iron key talisman before him. The Horseman is closing in.  
  
“Philipse!” Sam shouts as he and Dean take off toward the magistrate.  
  
Philipse holds the talisman up with shaking hands, trying to be fearless. The Horseman swings his sword upon the talisman and Philipse’s severed head spins. His body falls and folds to the dirt.  
  
The Horseman turns his horse in a wide circle, making a complete turn, letting out a feral cry as the Horseman rides straight toward brothers.

Before either brother has time to take proper aim, the Horseman is upon them, then past. His foot kicks out as he passes Sam, connecting with the youngest Winchester’s temple in a sickening crack as he rides toward Philipse’s corpse. The Hessian leans effortlessly to skewer Philipse’s head with his sword.  
  
With the head as his prize, the Horseman races away. Sam and Dean turn, watching him head back into the forest.  
  
“Sam,” Dean grabs his brother. Sam can feel the gush of blood running down from his hairline and then he loses consciousness for the second time in Sleepy Hollow.

  
  
**Van Tassel House - Sam’s Room**  
  
Sam gasps awake as there’s a knock at his door. He shoots up in bed and Dean jolts awake from his chair in the corner.  
  
“Constable Winchester?” Baltus calls from the hall.  
  
Sam looks at his hand balled into a fist. He opens his hand holding both halves of Philipse’s iron key talisman.  
  
In the hallway, Young Masbath is seated by Sam’s closed door. You’re behind your father who knocks again.  
  
“Has he spoken at all?” your father inquires. Young Masbath shakes his head no.  
  
Baltus enters, you and Young Masbath follow him, cautiously. Sam sits up in bed looking utterly bewildered.

“He has a concussion.” Dean yawns, getting up from his seat.  
  
“It was a Headless Horseman!” Sam mutters.  
  
“You must not excite yourself,” your father warns.

“No, you must believe me, it was Horseman! A dead one! Headless! My brother saw it too, tell them, Dean!” Sam looks from you to your father, but there’s not much behind his eyes.  
  
“I know, I know.” Baltus nods.  
  
“You don’t know because you weren’t there! But it’s all true!” Sam looks to you earnestly.  
  
“Of course it is. I told you! Everyone told you!” Baltus exclaims.  
  
“I saw him,” Dean confirms, turning to you. “This isn’t good for him. He’s out of his mind, he took a hard hit to the head and he needs time to recover without this kind of agitation.”  
  
Sam’s eyes roll up into his skull and he falls back on the pillow.

“Sam,” you say gently, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking his limp hand in yours.

“I suppose it’s back to the city then,” Young Masbath sighs.

You stiffen, looking to the elder Winchester who catches your eyes before shaking his head.

“He needs a good night’s sleep is all.”  
  
-

_A million white milkweed seedlings are floating in the sunlight. Young Sam is laughing in delight as Mary’s blows the seedlings into the air. She hands him a milkweed pod and shows him how to do it for himself._

_Sam breaks the pod and releases another million. But when he looks around to share the delight, his Mother has gone, and he sees her disappearing among the trees. He gets up to follow her._  
  
Sam can’t see his Mother anywhere, he’s searching and searching finally to see her standing in the middle of a beautiful circle in the forest glade, surrounded by toadstools and mushrooms.  
  
Sam watches as his Mother spins inside the mushroom circle, almost dancing, his face smiling and happy. She stoops down to pick up a mushroom and eat it, dropping a small piece. He sees it fall, running forward to pick up and popping it into his mouth.

_She watches him in delight, takes his small hands in hers, dancing with him._  
  
As Sam whizzes around laughing, his point of view becomes the encircling trees whizzing around, and suddenly he seems to be surrounded by menacing headless figures dressed all in black.  
  
Sam falls over dizzy and when he looks up he sees that the headless figures have merged into one, becoming his Father, watching his Mother heedlessly dancing, his face like thunder. His mother has loosened her clothes and is virtually bare-breasted.  
  
John’s eyes begin to glow like live coals as Sam cowers away from him.  
  
Suddenly he’s in his house at night.  
  
Sam spies through a crack in the kitchen door, wearing a nightshirt that falls past this knees.  
  
Mary is seated, her head down. His father paces, chastising his mother angrily, his fist balled up in rage. John continues to berate his mother. He picks up his Bible off the table, waving it, then grabs Mary by the shoulders, forcing her to the floor.  
  
John forces her to her knees, she’s afraid, clasping her hands in front of her as John forces her to pray. He starts reading from the Bible. In Sam’s dream, this is the same Bible from Baltus’s house.  
  
Sam watches, afraid. He backs away, retreating upstairs to his room.  
  
A window is thrown crashing open, thundering booming. Young Sam sits up in his bed. He goes to close the window, rain pouring in. He looks down…  
  
Below, in front of the home, a man is dragging Mary toward a coach. Two other men stand watching, faces hidden under hat brims. His mother looks back, eyes pleading, struggling.  
  
In a desperate moment, she looks up to Young Sam. The two men look up to Sam: one is his father, and the third is a man with a villainous face. Sam reaches helplessly toward Mother as she’s forced into the coach.  
  
The third man speaks to John, then walks to the coach. He gets onto the coach as the coach starts away.  
  
John watches, rain flowing down his stony features. Lightning flashes and in the corner of the room Sam sees the cat watching him with glowing eyes.

Sam awakes, breathing heavily. After a beat, he flings back the bedclothes and springs out of bed, energized by a new determination. He finds Dean in his room, barging in without so much as a knock. His brother is laying on his bed, fully clothed with one hand on his chest.

“I’m glad to see you up and moving,” Dean cracks one eye.

“Perhaps a knock to the head was what I needed.” Sam paces across the floor in front of the fireplace. “The supernatural is alive here, Dean. All the logic in the world can not explain away what we witnessed.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Dean sits up with a grunt. “I saw him. There’s no room left for doubt. This place has brought to life a demon, now flesh and blood.”

“I can’t help but wonder, have I closed my mind to other such possibilities? Were there signs, clues pointing in the direction of the Horseman all along? Have we wasted time?”

“No,” Dean shakes his head, one hand on his thigh. “You’re thorough, Sam. That’s what makes you an effective investigator. I didn’t see it either.”

“We cannot be dissuaded.” Sam is animated, head bobbing as he thinks to himself. “If anything, these people need us now, more than ever. There is no man here, except for us, equipped to take on a true nightmare like The Horseman.”

“I agree.” Dean stands, patting his belly, looking around for his coat. He stops, looking at Sam, as he pulls a memory from somewhere in the ether. “Do you remember when you were a little boy and that woman broke into our house? You were sleeping and woke up to her in the bedroom. She was crazed and attacked you.”

“How could I possibly forget that?” Sam snorts. “How old was I? Five? And all of a sudden this woman, who looked very much like a wicked witch, for the record, was clawing at me.”

“Dad intervened before she could do any real harm.” Dean gets lost in the memory.

“He told us she was shtriga. I was convinced that I survived a creature of the night only to find out she was the drunk from next door who’d wandered into the wrong house.”

“Do you ever wonder how many people he killed in the name of God? He was dead set on the idea of good and evil, black and white. Men and monsters. He never stopped to think that perhaps his judgment was clouded. He was nothing more than a preacher turned hunter who saw what he needed to see to be able to sleep at night.”

“Dad was the real monster.” Sam breathes and Dean freezes, jaw tightening as he looks at Sam.

“I guess he was.”

**Van Tassel House - Downstairs**

Baltus, Steenwyck, Doctor Lancaster and Notary Hardenbrook are having another meeting, this time with you and Lady Van Tassel on hand with the drinks.  
  
“Right,” Baltus nods, pacing the room. “This time I’ll go to New York myself and I won’t be saddled off with more amateur deductors.”

“Detectors.” Hardenbrook corrects.  
  
“Deductives, I believe.” Steenwyk raises a finger.

Doctor Lancaster shakes his head. “No, no…”  
  
You stand in silence watching a room full of men babble on about nothing.

“Look here, amateur sleuths!” Baltus demands the attention of the room. “This time it is a magistrate that is dead and we-”

The door flies open, hitting the wall with a resounding thud. Sam strides forward, looking not only transformed but raring to go. Dean is quick behind him, folding his arms over his chest with Young Masbath round-eyed just behind them.  
  
“Gentleman.” Sam nods, looking around the room. “I need able men to go with us into the Western Woods. Who will be the first to volunteer?”

“You’re going back out?” Your father questions in amazement. “We thought you’d shot your bolt.”  
  
“Merely a setback.” Sam’s eyes flicker to you. “It may surprise you to know that this is not the first supernatural creature my brother and I have encountered. Albeit most accounts of ghosts and ghouls have a perfectly preternatural explanation, but in rare cases, such as the one you have here, the culprit is truly metaphysical. There is no one better versed than we are. Today we move forward. We now know who has done these terrible-”

“Now you know, we already knew,” Steenwyck sneers.  
  
“Quite so.” Sam concedes.

“It seems fate has chosen us to work a case without parallel in the annals of crime - in short, to pit ourselves against a murdering ghost.” Dean asserts, eyes narrowing as he looks from man to man.  
  
You can feel a sickening fear rising in your stomach. Sam has just come into your life and the horseman may snatch him from you just as quickly.

“No, Sam-” You stop short as every soul in the room looks at you. Scrambling to collect yourself you start again. “Constable-”

Your stepmother smiles softly, a knowing grin you’ve come to recognize all too well.

“Tell me, Constables.” Lady Van Tassel looks from you to Sam and Dean. “Do you intend to arrest him? Or impound his horse?”

A low indulgent chuckle erupts throughout the room.

“Neither.” Sam’s unphased. “We intend to put an end to the killing. To discover the cause and remove it. Who’s with us?”  
  
This call to arms is met with a heavy silence.  
  
No one.


	8. Eight

**Western Woods**

No one, indeed. Sam, Dean and Young Masbath ride alone, their horses loaded up for the expedition.  
  
The three ride through the dark and gnarled woods keeping a watchful eye.

“The Van Garretts, the Widow Winship, Jonathan Masbath, and now Magistrate Philipse…something must connect them. Can you think of anything Young Masbath?” Sam asks.

“We had no dealings with the magistrate that I know of.” The boy shrugs.  
  
“And the widow?” Dean pulls his horse beside him. “Your father knew her?”

“Everyone knew Widow Winship,” he confirms.   
  
“In a manner of speaking I trust.” Sam glances to Dean.

“She would bring old Mr. Van Garrett a basket of eggs every week.”  
  
A crow screeches in the distance and all three riders nearly jump in their saddle.

“Did your father have dealings with the Van Garretts?” Sam inquires.

Young Masbath look between the brothers. “He worked for them, we lived in the coach house.”

“You didn’t think to mention this?” Dean presses.  
  
“It’s nothing, there were many servants. All dismissed now, of course…But there was something that happened one night, a week before the murder. An argument upstairs between father and son, and my father was later sent for by Mr. Van Garrett.”  
  
Sam nods, “An argument between father and son?”  
  
“After which, the elder Van Garrett summoned his servant, my father.”

“Stop.” Dean snaps, putting his hand up. “Listen.”  
  
“I hear nothing.” Young Masbath looks around.

“Nor do I, no birds, no crickets.” Sam keeps his eyes on the horizon, fingers grazing over the grip of his pistol.

“Everything has gone quiet,” Dean notes. “We need to keep moving.”

“This way,” Sam nods.  
  
They reach a hill crest, stopping to take stock of the surroundings. Below there is a cave with a rock archway over two ill-fitting doors that look to be coming off the hinges. Above is a chimney, smoke pouring out into the gray sky.  
  
“This is a bad idea.” Young Masbath pulls his horse back several steps.

“Bad ideas are what we do best.” Sam grins, dismounting his horse.  
  
“He’s right. Don’t be scared, boy. You’re safe with us.” Dean jumps to the ground, helping Young Masbath down.

They tie their horses to a tree and head toward the cave, stalking carefully on the approach.

“Do we…knock?” Sam whispers, looking at his brother.

Dean shrugs, hand on the butt of his pistol. “Sure.”  
  
Sam taps on the door twice, and it flops to and fro, clearly ajar.

Looking back at his two companions, Sam raises his eyebrows and ducks down to prowl inside. The walls are covered with skins and skeletons. Sam freezes when he spots her, across the cave is an old crone, facing away from them, motionless. Everything about her is gray, from her hair to her rotting skin.  
  
They all share a look as Sam clears his throat lightly. “Pardon our intrusion…”

There’s no response, so Sam edges forward.

“Are you from the Hollow?” Her voice is broken, fractured sounds only held together by the rasping of her throat.  
  
“In a way,” Dean affirms, leaving Young Masbath behind him to join Sam.  
  
Dean taps his brother’s arm, bringing his attention to the table beside them. It’s littered with gourd bowls of dead insects, dried leaves, acorns, knives, scissors, and yellowed bones.  
  
“I would like to say,” Sam inches closer. “We make no assumptions about your occupation, rather, your ways witch-which are nothing new to us. To each their own.”  
  
The Crone places something on a table beside her, a dead bird, a bright red cardinal. Sam begins to back away, but Dean stops him.  
  
“Do you know of the Horseman, ma'am? The Hessian?” Dean finds his voice.

The Crone draws her finger across her neck.  
  
“That’ll be him, miss.” The elder Winchester snickers.

Around her neck is a cord on which is threaded a carved stone, a mystic bauble, they both notice. The Crone stands tall and faces them, pointing to Sam.

“You, follow me.” She curls her finger. “Get out, child,” she instructs Young Masbath. “Keep away. No matter what you hear, keep away.”  
  
Sam looks back to Dean who’s standing his ground. “She wants you, not me.”  
  
The crone takes a candle and heads deeper into the cave and Sam follows her through the passage,terrified and bent under the low ceiling.  
  
“Um, what might he hear that he must keep away from?”  
  
“Sit here,” she instructs.  
  
Sam sits on a crooked stool. The Crone kneels with her back to him, grasping two metal cuffs with chains attached, sliding them onto her wrists, testing them.  
  
“He rides to the Hollow and back. I hear him. I smell the blood on him,” she grits.

“Do you,” he stops trying to find the right question. “We’re here to find him, to make him stop.”

“You want to see into the netherworld? I can show you.”

She gathers straw in a pile on the floor, then bowls, putting grass and powder on the pile, fussing over it. Then takes a jar from a table.  
  
“What are you doing?” Sam watches intently, he’s scared but even more entranced. This is old magic he didn’t believe existed in these modern times.

The Crone shakes one jar, pulling the lid off and upends it. A baby bat squirms, dazed. The Crone grips the bat using a knife to cut off its head, soaking the straw with blood.  
  
“Do not move or speak. When the other comes, I will hold him.” She explains calmly and Sam bows his head in confirmation.  
  
Using her candle, the Crone lights the straw pile.  
  
“The Other?” He asks softly.

“Silence,” she hisses, bending over to inhale the smoke. “He comes now.”  
  
The Crone slumps forward to the floor, suddenly immobile with her back to Sam. Wind howls through a hole somewhere in the wall of the cave.  
  
Sam looks around, uncertain. “Excuse me…ma'am?”  
  
The Crone remains motionless. The wind intensifies, candles blow out. Sam inches closer…  
  
“Do you hear me?” he asks again, a bit louder this time.

The Crone jumps erect, spinning - a half-human, half-demon creature, black clawed hands reaching out to Sam.  
  
He cries out, leaping backward.  
  
The chain on the restraining cuffs around its hands goes taut, yanking the creature back.  
  
Sam knocks over a table of bones, hits the floor. The creature is chained, but still wants Sam. It shrieks.  
  
Its face still seethes from transformation. “You seek the warrior bathed in blood, the Headless Horseman.”  
  
Sam scrambles to his feet as the creature claws the rock floor, yearning.  
  
“Follow the Indian trail to where the sun dies. Follow to the Tree of the Dead.” The creature yanks, testing the chains. Behind, the bolt holding the chains slips, the wall cracking. “Climb down to the Horseman’s resting place. Do you hear?”  
  
Sam nods, quaking, aghast. He glances back, wishing Dean were here to witness this horrific display.  
  
The chain bolt gives more, it’s coming loose.  
  
Sam flees toward the door. The creature howls, leaping when the chain bolt breaks. Sam shouts as he’s tackled to the floor. But when he looks up it’s only the crone lying on him. She’s returned to her human form, semi-conscious as Sam shoves her off him and to the floor.  
  
Sam sprints out from the cave, past Dean and Young Masbath. “We are leaving.”

“What happened?” Dean asks, watching Sam mount his horse.

“We are leaving, now.” Sam offers no room for dissent.

“Stop and talk to me, brother.” Dean claps a hand on Sam’s saddle horn.

“I cannot pretend to understand what’s happening in this place. But a spirit spoke to me.” Sam’s face is ashen. Dean stares at him a moment longer, then wordlessly mounts his own horse.

Sam, Dean, and Young Masbath ride side by side.  
  
“Take the Indian trail…to the Tree of the Dead.” Sam repeats, scanning the trees around him.  
  
“How will we recognize it?” Young Masbath asks.  
  
“Without difficulty, I rather fear,” Dean snorts.

“And climb down to the Horseman’s resting place, she said.” Sam recites for the tenth time, as the repetition will hold the words in his memory.

“His camp?” Dean wonders out loud.  
  
“His grave.” Sam’s sure of it.

Somewhere in the woods is a snapping branch that breaks the silence. The three look back.

“There’s someone out there.” Dean listens, eyes fluttering closed as he tilts his head toward the sound.

“We need a better vantage point.” Sam searches their surrounds. “Up there.”

They charge up the hill, halting the horses, the constables dismounting. Sam and Dean hand off the reins to Young Masbath and draw their guns.

“Ride on,” Dean whispers to the boy, who obeys immediately.  
  
The Winchesters wade into forest growth, backtracking the route they just took. Moving through the underbrush, keeping low. There’s the snort of a horse and they look to each in unspoken communication.  
  
They come up behind a figure in a gray cloak on horseback. Dean nods at Sam, both men raising their pistols, cocking the hammers.  
  
“Halt and turn! There are pistols aimed.” Sam’s voice booms through the forest.

The figure stops, pushes off the cloak hood.  
  
“It is me.” You can feel your heart thumping in your chest, looking at the two men who have their weapons trained on you.

“Y/N,” Sam lowers his gun. “We might have killed you. Why are you here?”

“Because no one else would go with you,” you answer honestly, watching the wonderful, faint smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. He’s heartened by your presence.

“I am now twice the man.” Sam reaches out, taking your hand, helping you off your steed. The feel of his hand on yours makes your cheeks flush.

Dean sighs averting his gaze, looking toward the tree line.  
  
“It is your white magic.” Sam grins, one hand curling around your waist.

Your eyes meet and he leans closer, unphased by his brother who stands only feet away.

“Pardon my intrusion…” Young Masbath steps out of the woods.

“Oh please,” Dean smiles, patting the boy’s shoulder. “No one has ever had more perfect timing my young man.”

“I think you’d better come and look at this, constables.”  
  
You follow the boy, Sam reaching behind to take your hand, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by his brother. Your fingers thread between his, a thrilling reminder of how large every part of him seems to be.  
  
The four of you come into a clearing, slowing your pace to look up at the monstrously huge Tree of the Dead at the center of the clearing.  
  
Its branches reach far and wide, knotted and gross, like agony captured in wood sculpture.  
  
“The Tree of the Dead,” Dean mutters, awestruck.  
  
“It does announce itself,” you whisper in confirmation, transfixed by the arboreal terror before you.

Without looking back Sam gives your hand a squeeze, before relinquishing his hold. He crosses a line beyond which grass and weeds will not grow. The three of you follow.  
  
Sam stares up into the endless, dead canopy of branches. There’s a vertical wound in the bark, like a terrible suture, now healed and scarred. Sam reaches out, finger sinking into the mushy scar, picking at its scabs till sap begins to run. Red sap. Sam coats his fingers and brings them to his nose, sniffing.  
  
“Blood.” He looks to Dean.

“The tree bleeds? How can it be?” you ask, stepping forward to look at the evidence.

Dean turns back to the horses, pulling two hand axes from the saddlebags.  
  
“What is it?” Young Masbath looks on, shaking in fright.

“Move back.” Sam locks eyes with you, sending a thrill of excitement down your spine, despite this perilous situation.  
  
At the trunk, Dean hands Sam an ax, thumping the flat end of it against the suture. It sounds hollow. They look to each other, and in accord they begin to chop.  
  
Dean sinks in first, pulling away loose bark. The tree drips more blood and a sickening goo. Sam uses both hands on the ax to hack at the festering suture.  
  
“What are you doing?” You stand on your toes, trying to look around the men.

“Just…keep where you are.” Sam instructs, fixated on the task at hand.

Young Masbath moves closer as the men keep chopping. Dean grips a large, loose flap, trying to pull it away. It’s not easy. Sam joins him and they both struggle.  
  
You follow Young Masbath’s slow advance.  
  
Both men give a menacing heave and the flap suddenly gives, revealing a blood-soaked, wide-eyed, gape-mouthed human head.  
  
Sam recoils, Dean covers his mouth. Behind them, you stifle a scream, clasping both hands over your mouth.  
  
Sam cocks his head, getting a closer look. It is Philipse’s head, hanging off the trunk flap, held by roots grown around and into the flesh. Four other severed, decaying heads are held by ingrown roots within the dewy innards.  
  
One of the heads is Jonathan Masbath’s. Before Young Masbath sees it, you hide his face, drawing him to you as he buries his head in your arms.

“My God,” you stammer, fear and confusion twisting in your belly.  
  
“He tries to take the heads back with him, but they will not pass,” Sam thinks out loud.

“We must leave this place,” you call out, gaining the attention of both men.

Sam looks to the branches towering above. ”This is a gateway, between two worlds.”  
  
Dean studies the ground, circling the trunk, around the other side he gets to his knees. There he’s found the Horseman’s sword, a grave marker, jutting up from the ground, rusted twenty years’ worth, gripped by the tree trunk and vines.  
  
Sam joins his brother, touching the ground with blood-stained fingers. “Climb down to the Horseman’s resting place.”

“Bring the shovels,” Dean calls out.  
  
Both men look up to the sight of you holding the boy, looking on in horror.  
  
“Forgive me.” Dean backtracks.  
  
Young Masbath courageously recovers himself, wiping his eyes and nose on the back of his sleeve.  
  
“Yes, sir, the shovels. Two shovels and the rifle, I suggest.”  
  
The sun is setting as you watch them dig by lantern light. Young Masbath is crouched, rifle across his knees. He watches the tree, looking up at the swarm of bats in the high branches.  
  
Sam and Dean both stand in a shallow grave.  
  
“This ground has been disturbed, the soil is loose.” Sam looks from his brother to you, throwing down his shovel. You and Young Masbath come to the edge of the grave. Sam pulls at thick burlap cloth covered heavy with dirt, straining as it comes away.  
  
Sam drops the burlap, looking down, disbelieving.  
  
“Dean, look!” The roots have gripped the Horseman’s bones and tattered uniform. The skeleton is all there, except the skull.  
  
“The skull is gone. What does it mean?” You scowl, looking away from the putrid sight.  
  
Sam jumps out from the grave. “It means, my dear Miss Van Tassel, it means…yes! What exactly does it mean? It definitely means something, only time will tell! But I sense that we are very close to the answer here.”  
  
Both Winchesters are both so caught up in the bones in front of them that they seem oblivious to the ground undulating beneath their feet.  
  
“Sam!” you shriek as he turns to look you. You grab Young Masbath, backing away as the roots in the grave come alive, entwining around the remains.

“Something is happening,” Dean draws Sam’s attention to the twisted tree behind them.  
  
The vertical suture seethes, pulling inward, sucking Philipse’s head back in and closing, bubbling at the edges.  
  
“Run!” Sam bounds over the grave, with Dean at his heels. He grabs you without slowing. Two big hands curl around your waist, plucking you off the ground as he heads for cover on the other side of the clearing.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, you can look behind him, the tree swelling and pulsing, the leaking scar moments from bursting open.  
  
Once Sam passes the bucking horses, he slips into the tree line, setting you down and moving to the forefront, putting himself between you and impending terror.  
  
There’s a rumbling coming from the tree as you peek around Sam to watch the spectacle. The wound bursts wide open, spitting smoldering cinders into the air.

From the open portal a glow brightens, and without warning, The Headless Horseman on his mighty steed, Daredevil, explodes into existence. The horse’s hooves hit the ground running, the ground shaking as horse and rider ride away, bolts of lightning striking the earth behind them.  
  
“Did you see that!” Sam shouts to Dean, both men look strangely excited for having just witnessed such a horrifying event.

“We have to go!” Dean responds, both of them already running toward their horses.

“Go straight home!” Sam calls back to you and Young Masbath. “Don’t stop for anything!”  
  
You call after him but there’s no stopping the Winchesters as they give chase, horses rearing up on two legs before speeding away in hot pursuit. Trees are silhouetted against the sky.

As the horseman’s hoofbeats grow faster, branches bending like arms and fingers yearning to touch. As the horseman roars past, and in turn, the trees relax.  
  
The Horseman rides fast with Sam and Dean behind him. There’s no keeping up and they slow, trying to decide what route he’s taken.  
  
“There!” Dean points to the distance, the sky is lit up. There’s a fire.  
  
The old crone’s cave is vomiting flames when they arrive. Embers swirling in the night air, the men dismount, heading closer to the cave as Dean slips on a blood covered rock, landing very close to the crone’s headless body. Dean recoils, crawling away, looking at the carnage in disbelief.

The corpse lies near the cave entrance. The jagged skin of the neck wound still bleeds. The ground and dead leaves around the corpse are thick with blood. Sam walks back to the crone, her headless neck has been cut and the carved Bauble is missing.  
  
They hear a Horse neighing in the trees, and the sound of the horse crashing through the undergrowth. They can hear him departing but can see nothing.


	9. Nine

**The Forest**  
  
Brom, Theodore, and Glen are on patrol. Brom is particularly proud with his new rifle. They can hear a horse crashing invisibly through branches, the sound of hooves, but can’t tell what direction the sound is coming from.  
  
“Split up!” Brom shouts, “He won’t get away.”  
  
The three of them gallop off in three directions. They hear the sound of deep rumbling, the same sound heard before Jonathan Masbath was murdered.

**Killian’s Home**

Killian, Thomas, and Beth, Killian’s wife, have finished supper in their small kitchen. Beth is clearing plates as Killian picks his teeth with a knife.  
  
There’s a faint sound in the distance.  
  
The glasses on the table shiver audibly. Killian notices, watching but the phenomenon promptly stops.

Thomas gets down from his chair. He goes to the fireplace to light a tallow wick, which he takes to the next room.  
  
Thomas plops on the floor and lights his magic lantern: a lantern with an outer sleeve of glass painted with silhouettes of lions and monsters. He turns the lantern, watching the wall where the shadows are cast. He roars for them, imagining them real and having a grand time.  
  
Beth comes back to the dining table for the last of the dishes.  
  
“Don’t pick your teeth. You teach Thomas bad habits,” she quips.  
  
Killian pulls her to him playfully. “I am a bad habit. There’s nothing for it.”  
  
“Oh isn’t there.” She smiles, kissing her husband.  
  
-

In the forest a mighty Brom rides his black horse, hooves pounding the ground. There is thunder in the distance and the horse stops and Brom looks skyward.  
  
All around the wind halts. A dead silence falls. Distant hoofbeats can be heard in the silence. Brom takes his rifle from his shoulder and rides toward them.  
  
-  
  
Behind where Killian sits the mantelpiece stones pulse, breathing. Demonic faces form, then disappear as the wind screams like an angry beast.  
  
Thomas continues his fun, shadow animals circling him as his mother enters his room to join him.  
  
The magic lantern suddenly stops spinning. Shadow creatures freeze. Beth looks up, noticing the ferocity of the wind as the smile leaves her face.  
  
The entire house creaks and groans. Killian stands, looking up. The house groans again, then suddenly the wind ceases and there is nothing.  
  
“Beth…” He calls a warning.  
  
Beth picks up Thomas. The magic lantern shadow creatures begin spinning anew, quickly, around and around.  
  
With a roar, the fire flares. Killian looks, and in the leaping flames, he seems to see the illusion of a face molded out of flames.  
  
Behind Killian, the door splinters inward. The Horseman steps in, a battle ax in each hand as the wind blasts behind him.  
  
The door to the other room slams. Killian grabs a chair and hurls it but the horseman swings, smashing it aside.  
  
“Beth, run!” he screams.

Beth holds Thomas as she backs away from the closed door as they listen to Killian yelling from the kitchen, get out!  
  
Killian grabs an iron poker from the fireplace, swinging it to fend off a blow from the Horseman.  
  
The Horseman swings the other ax and Killian ducks as the ax cracks fireplace stone, throwing sparks.  
  
Killian lunges, jamming the skewer into the Horseman cutting clean through the Horseman’s back. The Horseman swipes with the flat of one ax, pounding Killian aside.  
  
Killian hits the wall, bashing his head and wilts to the floor.  
  
The Horseman pulls the skewer out of his body and throws it aside. He lifts Killian by the hair with one hand, brings back the ax in the other hand.

Beth kicks a carpet of Thomas’s room aside to reveal a trap door, lowering Thomas to small stairs leading to a crawl space under the gapped floorboards. Thomas is crying loudly and Beth puts a finger to her lips.  
  
“Hush, hush, my love. Quiet as a mouse, now.”  
  
“Mother.” He cries, small and trembling.  
  
“You must hide,” she shushes him one last time closing the trap door, frantically replacing the carpet. The room’s door flies open. The Horseman strides in, carrying Killian’s severed head and Beth shrieks.  
  
Beth’s screams end quickly. Her body is heard hitting the floor above. Thomas sees the shadow of Beth’s head rolling across the gaps in the floorboards above him, coming to rest with her hair  
showing, hanging down in the gap as the Horseman walks the length of the room.  
  
The Horseman places the heads in a sack, cinching the it shut. Then stands, long, silent.  
  
Thomas cowers, trembling and quiet as the Horseman falls to his knees. He starts to chop at the floor with both axes. Chopping, chopping, chopping, making quick work of it.  
  
A hole appears as debris falls. Thomas looks up, screaming as he tries to crawl away.  
  
The Horseman’s arm shoves through from above, grabbing Thomas and yanking him up through the hole.

  
**  
Killian’s Farm - Outskirts**  
  
Brom rides from the forest.  
  
Ahead, at Killian’s house, among scattered homes on the outskirts of town, an evil steed steps up as the Headless Horseman walks out with his sack of heads. The Horseman ties the sack to his saddle and leaps up.  
  
The Horseman ignores Brom. But sadly, Brom refuses to be ignored.  
  
He puts his reins in his mouth, aims his rifle, firing at the horseman with a might crack!  
  
Boom, the slug blows the Horseman off his stallion, exploding. The Horseman’s smoldering body is left face down.  
  
Brom halts his horse, climbing down, pleased with himself  
  
Until the Horseman moves.  
  
Brom backs away, satisfaction diminishing and the Horseman rises to his knees. Brom falls to one knee, begins reloading. He fills the gun from his powder horn.  
  
The Horseman stands, unsheathes his sword and turns. The blast has exposed rotten flesh and maggot-infested muscle.  
  
Brom readies his ramrod, but there’s no time. He rises, hefting his rifle, straight at the Horseman with a yell.  
  
The Horseman is on him but Brom swings the rifle, blocking.  
  
The battle is on, with Brom fending off the Horseman’s sword with the rifle - CLANK - CLANK - CLANK  
  
Across the field, Sam and Dean arrive upon the scene of the fight. Gunpowder rears back knocking Dean to the ground as Sam charges toward the action.  
  
The Horseman makes a backhanded swing, knocking Brom’s rifle away, sending Brom to the ground. The Horseman walks away from Brom who pulls a knife and throws it.  
  
The knife blade goes through the Horseman from back to front, like a spear thrust through a smoldering sack of rotten flesh. The Horseman pulls Brom’s knife, blade first, from his chest and turns upon Brom.  
  
Brom scrambles up, fleeing, running toward Killian’s. The Horseman throws the knife with precision and it embeds in Brom’s thigh as he strides closer.  
  
Sam closes in, pulling an unlit lantern off his saddle.  
  
The Horseman changes his sword grip, blade open, plants one foot on Brom’s back, raising his sword to skewer.  
  
Sam arrives at full gallop, smashing the lantern into the Horseman, effectively knocking him off of Brom.  
  
In the distance, Theodore and Glen arrive on horseback. They halt where they are, watching in amazement.  
  
Brom runs, limping to Killian’s house, a goal in sight, there are farm implements propped there. Brom grabs scythes with long curved blades, one in each hand.  
  
The Horseman rises up, on a mission.

Sam leaps off his horse, running to Brom’s side.  
  
Once more, the Horseman turns away.  
  
“I’ll get him!” Brom yells, grabbing for Sam’s pistol.  
  
“Wait! Don’t you see? He’s not after us!” Sam shouts, grabbing for his gun back.  
  
Brom shakes himself free and fires. The bullet rips through the horseman’s stomach to reveal putrid innards. The horseman turns back, locked onto Brom.  
  
“He’s not after us!” Sam shouts, grabbing Brom and trying to pull him along. Brom throws the pistol at the Horseman.

Across the way, Theodore looks to Glenn, turns his horse and flees. Glenn follows Theodore away as Dean rides closer, praying he arrives in time.  
  
Brom steps up, scythes ready. He and the Horseman go at it. Brom blocks the ax and sword, deflecting blows. Sam grabs a long-handled sickle, circles them, swinging the sickle as the Horseman blocks his efforts.  
  
The Horseman battles both men at once, catching blows, countering every strike, the sounds ringing out into the night.  
  
Sam’s sickle is knocked out of his hand.  
  
Brom catches the Horseman’s sword in one scythe, catches the ax handle in the other scythe, but the Horseman flatfoot kicks Brom, sending him down.  
  
Brom picks up Sam’s sickle and swings it, the blade embedding in the Horseman down to the hilt.  
  
“Now you’ve pissed him off,” Sam yells, but Brom will not listen.  
  
The Horseman drops his ax, grasps the sickle handle. The handle slams Sam away, hitting the ground.  
  
Sam crawls, shaking off the blow. The Horseman staggers, trying to pull the blade from his body.  
  
“We cannot win this.” Sam pleads for Brom to have some sense.  
  
Brom yanks Sam to his feet and grabs his scythes.  
  
As they flee, Sam grabs a wood-splitting ax from the stump where it’s embedded.  
  
Behind, the Horseman manages to extract the sickle, drops it.  
  
Brom and Sam head toward the covered bridge that leads across to the town square. The Horseman strides after, retrieving his ax on the way.

Brom and Sam start across. Sam must help support Brom as he limps beside him. Behind them, the Horseman picks up the pace, closing in fast.  
  
Inside the bridge, Sam and Brom are halfway across. Footsteps pounding behind them. Sam glances back and to his surprise, the Horseman is not behind them. Sam and Brom look up. The pounding feet are on the roof, passing over.  
  
Ahead, at the mouth of the covered bridge, the Horseman leaps down, spinning in midair, lands, crouched.  
  
Sam and Brom halt as The Horseman rises. Sam releases Brom and moves forward, gripping his wood ax in both hands, swinging the ax downward…  
  
The Horseman swings his own ax, splintering Sam’s ax handle.  
  
The Horseman, ax in one hand, sword in the other, turns upon Brom, and in pulling Brom aside out of the path of the sword, Sam receives a sword-thrust in the shoulder, which makes him scream in agony.  
  
The Horseman lifts his sword arm, throwing Sam and withdrawing the sword in one motion as Sam tumbles to the ground.

“Dean!” Sam yells, clutching his shoulder, blood running from between his fingers.  
  
Brom moves forward with the scythes. The Horseman sets upon him with incredible ferocity, battling Brom back, striking so hard and fast it’s hard for Brom to keep blocking.  
  
Sam tries to get up, but falls knowing he’s of no help now. He watches as the horseman knocks one of Brom’s scythes away, taking another swing, sending Brom spinning in a spray of blood.  
  
The Horseman stands over Brom’s body, chopping with his sword.

Sam’s vision begins to blur as the horseman approaches, now at the specter's mercy. He’s ready for a final blow but it never comes as the horseman strides past him.  
  
“Sam!” He hears only his brother's voice, and a hand pressing over his wound as he loses consciousness.


	10. Ten

**Van Tassel House - Sam’s Room**

The doctor works by candlelight. Sam’s shirtless on the bed, feverish and sweating with open eyes staring at the ceiling, but seeing nothing except his injury-induced delusions. The wound at the top of his chest is raw but with the edge sealed shut.

Doctor Lancaster bends over him, Baltus and Dean observing.   
  
“Remarkable. A wound like this should have killed him. But it needs no stitches, and there’s much less blood loss than one would expect.”

“He’ll live.” Dean steps forward, brow furrowed.

“The fever is the thing to beat now. He’s young and strong, he has a good chance.”

They watch Sam’s eyes blink again and again, his body jerking.  
  
“He’s awake?” Dean looks to the doctor.  
  
Sam tries to rise, looking around, collapsing in pain.  
  
“You must be still, a fever is upon you.”  
  
Sam head lolls to the side, sweat dripping down his face and he says your name. “Y/N.”

–

You’re trying not to panic, bent over the hearth, chanting. You attend to the boiling beaker of milk and green leaves. There is a dead crow on the hearth, with one foot chopped off and a sharp knife lying alongside.

You don’t much care if Sam believes in magic, you believe enough for the both of you.

It was your mother who taught you the old ways, conjuring and divination. It was she that taught you witchcraft was nothing to be feared. For the ones who seek only the light, the love, the healing that flows in all creation, your magic isn’t yours at all. You are not as conductors of an orchestra with a wand, but more as the soft music of the flute. You are one of duty, filled with love, moving with nature, inspired by the beauty of creation. You’re moved by the loving hands of the creator, yours and Sam’s, and have the power to resist the negative forces in life. The chaos of the universe has synchronicity that can only be seen by those committed to either the positive or negative side, the forces beyond what Sam would call ‘reality.’  
  
Closing your eyes, you hold a hand over the concoction. “Nostradamus Mediamus, Milk Of Mercy In Media Nos Laudamas.”  
  
Carefully pouring the drink in a mug you hurry upstairs, entering Sam’s room with the medicine. His brother, your father and Doctor Lancaster are bent over Sam.  
  
“Here,” Lancaster takes the drink from you, offering it to Sam. “Drink, it will restore you.”  
  
Sam closes his lips tight and refuses the drink, he doesn’t trust Lancaster. You pat the doctor on the shoulder, taking his place, sitting on the edge of the bed. He sees you, his eyes lighting up through pain and fever. The notion that he cares for you the way you have come to care for him makes your heart swell.

“I…I…tried to stop Brom but…” he sputters, imploring you to understand.

Leaning forward you run a hand through the sweat of his forehead. “Shhh, no one could have done more. Drink this down, it will make you sleep.”  
  
“The horseman was not set to kill Brom, or me,” Sam tries to explain, swallowing hard as his throat bobs. “If Brom had not attacked him…”  
  
“Later,” you coo, taking his clammy hand between the two of yours. “Rest now.”

“I have discovered something,” Sam whispers, eyes closing as the pain surges.  
  
Baltus and Doctor Lancaster glance at each other, a look that doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean.  
  
“These are ravings.” Baltus shakes his head.  
  
“The Horseman does not kill for the sake of killing, he chooses his victims.”  
  
“Drink,” you murmur, holding the mug to Sam’s lips. He drinks it all and falls back against the pillow, closing his eyes.  
  
Your father turns as your stepmother, Lady Van Tassel enters. She comes to him, anxiously gripping his hand.

“What is it, Baltas?” she asks.

“Nothing, nothing, don’t be troubled my love.” He pats her hands, as they both stare at Sam who’s now fallen asleep.

  
  
**Sam’s Dream**   
  
_An empty church. Young Sam enters, he hears a sound and ducks down to hide in one of the rows._

_Ahead, across the church, a red door opens. His father, John and the villainous third man steps out, shutting the door, speaking quietly._

_The third man holds a piece of parchment paper as his father stands by, ever emotionless._  
  
Sam watches them, ducking down to keep hidden.  
  
John and the Man walk to leave down the aisle, passing close to Sam without seeing him. They exit, leaving Young Sam alone in the silent church.  
  
Sam rises, begins moving fearfully forward, sneaking to the red door and opening it.  
  
The room contains torture devices: iron cuffs, thumb screws, knives, and long, thick needles. There is a spiked chair, fitted with sharp spikes, adorned with straps for holding down the “accused.”  
  
Sam backs away, terrified, then sees it. A shaft of light cuts across a large, sarcophagus, like an iron maiden. To his horror, he can see his mother’s eyes through the slit in the Iron Maiden’s  
face.

_Open eyes._

_Dead eyes._  
  
He lets out a strangled cry, runs to the metal coffin, trying to pull it open, clawing at the lock.  
  
When he finally backs away he’s choking on misery. He looks around in despair before falling to his knees at the spiked chair, placing his hands on the spikes, pressing down.  
  
As he sobs, blood runs down from his hands. He looks down and sees the cat is there, looking up at him. The cat reaches up to rub its head against his face.  
  
-

Sam jerks awake, bolting upright, covered in sweat. His eyes are burning wild in the low candlelight of the room. He’s crying, tears falling from the corners of his swollen, red eyes. You take one look at him and wrap yourself around his damp, fever-hot body.

After several minutes you pull back, reaching down to take his hands when you notice blood on his palms. You carefully use a handkerchief to clean him up.

“Hush, hush, you were dreaming,” you whisper, keeping your voice low and calm. He draws in a breath, laying back on the pillow.

“Yes, things I had forgotten and would prefer not to remember.” He blinks several times, pulling himself from the grip of sleep.  
  
“Perhaps the remembering is the hard road to peace of mind. What ails you, Sam?”

“I was well in my dream. It was the world that was ill, but since I came here my dreams have turned dark…dark memories I fear.”  
  
“You were not a happy man when you arrived in Sleepy Hollow. I think your wound was deeper than the wound you received from the horseman.” You place a hand on his forehead. “But your fever is broken. And though I cannot cure the world I would make you happy to live in it. Tell me what you dreamed.”  
  
“How I found my mother dead. How good and evil sometimes wear each other’s clothes. She was an innocent, a child of nature condemned, murdered by my father.”  
  
“Murder?” You stare in horror, heart breaking for him at such a thought. “By your father?”  
  
“Yes. Murdered to save her soul! By a bible-black tyrant behind a mask of righteousness. I was seven when I lost my faith.”  
  
“Surely there must be something you believe in, Sam…”

“There is. Sense and reason, cause and consequence. An ordered universe. Oh lord, I should not have come to this place where my rational mind has been so controverted by the spirit world.”  
  
You can’t help but bristle at his words.  
  
“Is there nothing you will take from Sleepy Hollow that was worth the coming here?”

He stares at you in silence, one large hand finding yours and holding it tight.  
  
“No, not nothing. A kiss, and how rare a thing, affection from a lovely woman before she ever saw my face or new my name.”  
  
“Yes, without sense or reason.” You smile, looking down at his fingers entwined with your own. “The first kiss was a kiss on account.”

“And the ones that come after?” His eyebrows shoot up, a gentle pull at the corner of his mouth.

“A plan to lure you into my arms.” You grin slyly and he chuckles. “It seems to have worked.”  
  
“Oh, God forgive me, I talk of kisses and you have lost your brave man Brom.” Sam shakes his head, brow furrowing. “You had known him your entire life.”  
  
“I have shed my tears for Brom…and yet my heart is not broken. Do you think me wicked?” you ask carefully, awaiting his reaction.  
  
“No, but perhaps there is a little bit of the witch in you, Y/N.”  
  
“Why do you say that?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.  
  
“Because you have bewitched me.” He smiles this time, a full smile that pulls pink lips back over white teeth. “I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon. Not to mention brave and opinionated. If the only thing to come out of this awful place is meeting you, then I considered myself a lucky man.”

“Such flattery.” There’s heat in your cheeks, and you look away, but only for a moment. “I don’t want to appear too…bold, but…”

“Bold is not robust enough a word to describe you, my sweet Y/N. What is it?”

“We,” you pause, forcing yourself to look at him despite your embarrassment. “We are alone for the night. And I was hoping, despite your injury, that I might have another kiss.”

“You may have whatever you like from me.” His eyes shine, happy as the grin on his mouth as he leans forward, catching your lips in a simple, sweet kiss. Resting his forehead against yours he stays close as he speaks. “And if I wanted more than a kiss?”

“But you are hurt,” you whisper, placing one hand on his firm chest.

“I have been in much worse condition than this.” He kisses you again, this time his tongue sliding just past your lips, letting you taste him. You comb both hands into his hair, using the grip to keep him close.

“Then I would say we are a good match, because you may have whatever you like from me as well.”

He pulls you close with his uninjured arm, cupping your jaw before sliding his fingers into your hair in return. After a few more eager kisses you squeal in surprise when he turns and pushes you quickly onto your back with a flex of muscle. In peak condition he must be a force to be reckoned with because even now he’s powerful as he hovers above you, letting the weight of his hips press your thighs open for him.

“This dress is problematic,” he mutters, mouth ghosting across the swell of your breasts.

“Then we should remove it,” you gasp as he sucks at the skin under your jaw, drawing out pleasure in prickling excitement.

“Roll over.” Sam lifts his weight as you roll onto your belly. His fingers are immediately working on the corset tie at the back your dress, pulling silk ribbon out of the eyelets until it’s loose enough for you to shimmy out of.

Rolling back over, you sit up and look at Sam, clad in nothing but your simple sheath dress. His eyes are fixed on you like a hungry fox who’s spied a field mouse. Gathering confidence, you lift your backside off the bed pulling the material over your head, leaving you stark naked sitting in the constable’s bed.

“My God,” he breathes, eyes falling from your breasts to your belly, then lower. “Every inch of you is perfection.”

“You think me flawless?” You blush, fighting the urge to cover yourself with your hands.

“Absolutely.”

“I want to see you.” You’re suddenly eager, apprehension fading into the background.

Reaching out you help him pull his shirt over his head, revealing a well-muscled chest, and the strong arms that picked you up in the woods as if you weighed nothing at all. He stands up to take off his trousers, shoving them down his legs.

You’re sitting in the middle of the bed, eyes fixed on his magnificent cock, standing at attention, curved up toward his belly.

He’s one to talk to about perfection.

“I wish I could kiss every inch of your body,” he confesses, kneeing his way back onto the bed. You lie back, spreading your legs as an invitation for him to crawl between them. An invitation he accepts eagerly. “But I don’t know that we have the time for that kind of indulgence when we’re in your father’s house.”

His cock is trapped between your stomachs, warm, hard flesh pressing over your belly as he swallows your gentle sigh, thick tongue once again filling your mouth.

“If not now, when will we ever find the time?” You hum against his lips as he moves down your neck.

“When I take you home with me.” He buzzes against your throat, lifting up enough to gauge your reaction. “When I have you in my bed and I can take you the way I’d like to.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” You smile, holding back a squeal of utter joy at the thought of him planning to abscond with you in tow.

Most of his weight is being supported by his good arm, so you grow bold, reaching between your bodies to wrap your fingers around his massive shaft, shifting up enough to let the head catch between the lips of your sex.

“Be gentle with me.” He grins, catching your lips with his as he slides forward, burying his cock inside your tight channel until he can’t get any deeper. The weight and heat of him on top of you is delicious torture, pushing the air from your lungs as he pins you to the bed.

His hips meet your thighs with one powerful thrust that solidifies just how strong he really is. Injury or not he could fuck you until you begged for mercy. He mouth doesn’t leave yours for the first dozen thrusts of his hips, stretching your wet flesh open and filling up the space inside with his thick cock.

You’re tight and wet, unbelievably wet as the sound of your cunt taking his cock fills the room. He hasn’t been with a woman for more than a single night in years. Every woman he’s been with since Jessica was the result of a monetary transaction or a fleeting night fueled by liquor and loneliness. But in stark contrast you are warm and soft underneath him, a beauty beyond compare that has seen darkness and chosen to stand beside him instead of run in fear. You’re one of a kind and he can scarcely believe that you’re real.

“Careful,” he breathes hot against your breast. Long fingers curl under the clammy flesh of your knee, attempting to break the grip of your legs locked around his hips. “I’m close and I must not finish inside you.”

“You don’t want to be inside me?” you gasp, as he grinds deep, holding himself against your womb.

“I do,” he grunts, placing a kiss on your collar bone before lifting up to look down at you. His mouth is open, tongue darting over pink lips. “More than anything but we can’t.”

“Why not?” You moan in protest as his hand cups your breast. “I want to feel you. Just this one time, please Sam. _Please_. Just once.”

If you take this chance and his seed takes root in your belly there’s not much that could be done. But your need overrules all sense of logic as you wiggle under his weight.

“You’ll do me in if you keep begging like that.” His lip curls, eyes fluttering shut at the combination of pain from his shoulder and the squeeze of your walls around his cock.

“Please.” You claw at his back, nails digging in on either side of his spine. “Just this time.”

“Just this time.” He gives in, bracing himself as his hips move faster, his cock working your wet hole tip to base with every punishing stroke.

The scrape of his pubic hair over your clit is more than enough, but combined with the sensation of being so full you come undone almost immediately. It’s a quiet orgasm. You do everything you can to hold back the torrential rush of pleasure that rocks your entire body, sealing your mouth closed as you hold onto him.

Sam feels it, your cunt squeezing around him, clammy thighs locked around his hips and he’s done for. You’re making little strained sounds, whimpers caught in your throat that only seems to fuel his desperation. Two more pumps and he cums. His whole body jerks forward, filling you with every inch of his cock as he empties inside you.

-

“I should go.” You nuzzle your nose against the scruff of his jaw, wiggling close as his arm tightens around you.

“Already?” He sighs, looking toward the clock. It’s nearly four and the sun will be up in a few hours. “Shouldn’t I be the one sneaking from your room at all hours of the night?”

“In another life.” You smile, lips pressed into his cheek. “I wish I could sleep here with you. Wake up in your arms…”

“As do I,” he confesses, turning his head to kiss you. It’s a gentle kiss, sweet and chaste.

“Aren’t you afraid?” you whisper, tucking yourself back into his side, not yet ready to abandon the warmth of the bed.

“Of what? The Horseman?” he asks and you nod. “Perhaps a little, but there are far greater horrors in life. Our father believed evil lurked around every corner. He raised Dean and I to be ready for anything. While I hate the man that he became, I do thank him for giving us the tools to defeat such creatures. Most beasts that stalk the night turn out to be nothing more than men, but when the threat is indeed supernatural, we’re just as ready. The Hessian might be the nastiest ghoul we’ve encountered, but certainly not the first.”

“You’ve seen a ghost before?” you whisper, fingers threading through his chest hair, the pads of your fingers pressing down into his skin.

“A few.” He rubs his open palm over the curve of your naked hip. “Most of the time they’re just echoes of the past. Like a memory that gets stuck between the world of the living and dead. They end up trapped in a moment, reenacting the events over and over. They don’t interact, don’t even know you’re there. It’s sad.”

“What of the others? You said most are echoes.”

“The others are something else entirely. Tortured souls with unfinished business that rot and twist into something dark. I believe that’s what the Hessian is. A lost soul that turned rancid in death. He’s out for revenge and won’t stop until he gets it.”

You shiver at the thought, burrowing into Sam’s side. You saw the horseman burst from his resting place, you’ve seen first hand the terrible power of the black horse and headless rider.

“Do you think he will stop killing of his own accord?”

“I doubt it. Something brought him back to life and until his need is satisfied he will continue killing.” The hand on your hip grips your flesh, giving a squeeze. “Dean and I will stop him, some cases just take a little longer than others.”

“While I shudder at the thought of more murder, I will admit that I hope you’re required to stay in Sleepy Hollow as long as possible.”

“I meant what I said.” He cups the back of your head, kissing your hair. “When we leave this place, I’ll take you with me. If that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” you sit up, enough to look at his face. “I want that very much. I know we have not known each other long but I feel such a connection between us.”

“As do I.” His fingers trail along your jaw.

Glancing at the clock you grin, getting onto your knees and sliding your legs over his waist. He watches, a hand settling on your hip as you lean down to kiss him.

“I think we have time for just one more indulgence, don’t you constable?”

His cock is already hard and you eagerly take it into your hand, lifting up enough take him inside you, sinking down.

He sits up, shifting your position in his lap, twisting a hand into your hair. “Plenty of time.”

**Porch**  
  
Young Masbath slowly opens the door to peer out. He walks out onto the porch, watching as across the lawn, a cloaked figure walks carrying a lantern.

The figure heads onto the long straight road, into the forest, lantern light dissipating.  
  
Young Masbath steps off the porch, in cautious pursuit.


	11. Eleven

**Van Tassel House - Sam’s Room**  
  
Sam awakes, rolling over to find Lady Van Tassel at his bedside with food and drink. He shifts, pulling the covers up over his waist, still naked from the night before.

  
“You slept like the dead,” she affirms mouth pinched in a tight expression.  
  
“You are too kind to me.” Sam clears his throat, sitting up. “I do not look to be served by the lady of the house.”  
  
She smiles and shrugs. “Nor would you be but that the servant girl has vanished.”  
  
“Sarah?” Sam confirms, thinking about how pleased she was to have him here, to solve this dark mystery.  
  
“Run away, like many more people are leaving, in fear, without ceremony.” Lady Van Tassel waves her hand as if swatting at wafting annoyance.  
  
“Where is Y/N?” Sam asks, immediately regretting the question. He can still smell you on the bedclothes.  
  
“She watched over you till dawn, I dare say.” Her eyes narrow, something playful sparkling. “Now it is her turn to sleep and I am here. I doubt, however, that I will provide the same level of care my stepdaughter has.”

“I am grateful.” Sam ignores her implication.

“I’ll leave you to dress, constable.” She leaves the room as Young Masbath enters.  
  
“I am fit for another day.” Sam’s careful to keep the sheets around his waist as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “Get my brother.”  
  
“I’m already here.” Dean saunters through the door, tugging his sleeves into place.

“You’re awake early,” Sam comments, pulling on his trousers.

“There wasn’t much sleep to be had while Y/N was providing you such vigorous care.” Dean grimaces and Sam nearly chokes on his own spit.

“The walls are thin?” Sam grins despite the blush rising in his cheeks.

“Thin enough to know she took great care of you…twice.” Dean remains unamused.

“Miss Van Tassell tended to me when I had the flu.” Young Masbath adds, looking from Sam to Dean. “She is a gifted caregiver.”

Dean chuckles, placing a hand on Young Masbath’s shoulder. “I have no doubt she is.”

“Where are we going?”  
  
“To the Notary’s office,” Sam offers and Dean nods in agreement.  
  
“Why?” Young Masbath asks.  
  
“Because that is where I expect to find deposited…the last will and testament of the elder Van Garrett,” Sam explains, looking at his brother.  
  
Dean nods at him. “You’ve thought of something.”

“Of something Young Masbath said.” Sam gestures to the boy. “The Widow Winship came many a day with a basket of eggs to Van Garrett, who I understand had hens to spare. I begin to see. It was Van Garrett’s child that the widow was carrying.”  
  
“I heard someone leaving last night,” Young Masbath interjects. “Looked like they were headed into town, but I lost them in the woods.”  
  
“You didn’t see who?” Dean cocked an eyebrow.  
  
“All I saw was their lantern.”  
  
The brothers ponder this new information, troubled, as Young Masbath brings Sam a shirt.  
  
“The Horseman does the killing but, I believe, at the bidding of a mortal, someone of flesh and blood.” Sam pulls the shirt over his head.  
  
“What makes you say that?” Masbath looks at Sam like he’s insane.  
  
“The witch,” Dean confirms.

“Indeed, the crone, when I happened upon her corpse, she lay in a pool of blood. Blood poured hard from her neck. The wound was not cauterized.”  
  
“Then, she was not killed by the Hessian. Someone tried to make it seem so.” The boy is getting it now.  
  
“Perhaps it was the settling of a private score,” Dean offers.

“That would make more sense,” Sam agrees, gathering his things. “The Horseman cuts heads to a different drum. The crone pointed us to what drives the Hessian - his skull has been stolen from his grave. The person who stole it has power over the Hessian. Here is why the Headless One has returned through the gate of the Tree of the Dead. He chops heads until his own is restored to him.”

“But what person?” Young Masbath looks from Sam to Dean.  
  
Dean is silent for a moment then chuckles, watching the knowing grin on his brother’s face. “What person has something to gain from all three murders?”

  
  
**Town Square - Church**

Wagons, horses and townspeople swarm. A crowd empties the town’s general store. Provisions are passed along, man to man, and loaded onto wheelbarrows.  
  
Sam, Dean and Young Masbath ride, passing by many angry faces who leer up at them.  
  
All up and down the long straight road, homeowners board up windows with lumber.  
  
The three stop, tying their horses in front of the “NOTARY.” Sam looks down the road, people are headed to the church.

“Sanctuary.” Sam looks to Dean. “Or, so they hope.”

“The hysteria will only build from here.” Dean claps a hand on Young Masbath’s shoulder.  
  
People carry supplies into the church, within the bordering wrought iron fence. Others work to build and erect massive wooden crosses.  
  
In the crowd here, Reverend Steenwyck spots the constables and Young Masbath, pushes past people, shouting…  
  
“There they are! There!” The reverend hollers.  
  
People begin to pay attention to Steenwyck as he climbs atop a crate, pointing toward the Winchesters.  
  
“The desecrators of Christian burial! Twice they met the Horseman, and kept their heads! How is it so?”  
  
Turning toward the notary Sam tries to ignore the scene before him and heads inside, as a clod of earth hits him on the shoulder.  
  
In the churchyard, Steenwyck continues his rant. “The Devil protects his own!”  
  
Inside they find themselves in a small, untidy room with piles of dusty documents in great disorder. The Notary Hardenbrook looks at Sam with his one good eye. Young Masbath stands nearer to Dean.  
  
“I take it, Mr. Hardenbrook, that wills and testaments are held here on public record?” Sam inquires, pulling off his riding gloves one at a time.  
  
Hardenbrook is in a funk, trying to act calm. He knows what they’ve come for and passes a document across the desk. “I believe this is what you wish to see. Take it and go!”  
  
Sam and Dean lean in, scanning the will of Peter Van Garrett.  
  
“Van Garrett Senior left his estate to his next of kin, that is to say, to his only son. However, the son was also murdered.” Hardenbrook explains.  
  
“The next of kin after the son would be the eldest of the line from Van Garrett’s father’s sister…none other than the Baltus Van Tassel: something else no one thought to mention?” Sam’s eyes flick up to the man, ignoring Dean shifting beside him.  
  
“Well, you have found your way to it, and I hope you will leave now before my windows are broken.”

The crowd murmurs outside like angry bees. Sam flourishes the will in his hand.  
  
“My brother is not ready to leave,” Dean smirks widening his stance.  
  
Hardenbrook starts moaning and wringing his hands.  
  
“A brick through your window is not what puts you in terror, Hardenbrook - there is something else. I saw your fear, and Steenwyck’s, and the doctor’s when you met at Philipse’s house… Philipse paid with his head, and you fear for your own,” Sam surmises much to the notary’s horror.  
  
“Yes, it’s true!” Hardenbrook shouts. “But we did not know it was a murdering plot when we were drawn in!”  
  
Dean steps forward. “Drawn in by whom?!”  
  
“Mercy upon me!” Hardenbrook exclaims, clasping his hands. “We meant no harm to come to her!”  
  
“No harm to come to whom?” Sam leans in.

“But the marriage made her next of kin…” Hardenbrook babbles on as Sam is losing his patience.  
  
“Made who next of kin to whom?!” Sam shouts. “You’ve yet to offer any real answer.”  
  
“He means old Van Garrett secretly married the Widow Winship.” Young Masbath is the one to clarify.  
  
“Of course!” Sam is starting to catch on. “And Van Garrett made a new will, leaving everything to her and his unborn child… So she stood between Baltus and the legacy! Where is the will?”  
  
Hardenbrook is beginning to panic, looking around the room, eyes wild. “I cannot be seen to help you! The Horseman will come for me!”  
  
“We will not leave without the very last will and testament in question.” The younger Winchester stands his ground as Dean crosses his arms over his chest.  
  
Hardenbrook digs into a mountain of documents, hurling handfuls into the air and flings the second will at Sam. Young Masbath nervously checks the door.  
  
“Go, then! I am a dead man!” The old man cries, he starts to sob.  
  
“Sir-” Young Masbath starts.  
  
“Young Masbath…I know why your father died. That night when Van Garrett quarreled with his son, Jonathan Masbath was summoned upstairs to witness the new Will. Here is your father’s signature. It was his death warrant.”  
  
Young Masbath takes the document and looks at it tearfully.  
  
“But the secret was not safe. Mrs. Killian the midwife was forewarned the baby was coming – and so she, too, had to die.”  
  
One of the other hurled documents fluttered down fortuitously in front of Sam. Dean picks it up.  
  
“The marriage certificate,” Dean confirms. “Parson Steenwyck married them. Doctor Lancaster confirmed the widow was pregnant. She told the secret to Magistrate Philipse. Notary Hardenbrook concealed the documents.”  
  
Hardenbrook snivels and moans and wrings his hands.  
  
“And you all kept silence!” Sam turns to the notary. “Why? For some nameless dread of the man who stood to gain by it - Baltus Van Tassel!”

**VAN TASSEL HOUSE**

Sam, Dean and Young Masbath start up the stairs, noticing Baltus, alone, with a glass of liquor, is brooding over an oak coffer of silver, running coins through his fingers.  
  
The constables continue with Young Masbath, speaking quietly.  
  
“I think there is some error in your reasoning,” Young Masbath interjects.

“Really?” Sam looks to his brother. “Do give us the benefit of your insight.”  
  
“All these murders, just so that Baltus Van Tassel should inherit yet more land and property?” Masbath shakes his head.  
  
“Precisely,” Dean confirms. “Men murder for profit. Possibly you don’t know New York?”

“If you had seen the things we have young man you would not hesitate to believe-”  
  
Sam stops short seeing his bedroom door ajar. He carefully pushes the door open, surprised to find you at his desk, reading his ledger.

“Y/N, why are you in my room?”  
  
“Because it is yours.” You smile softly, eyes darting to your handsome constable. “Is it wicked of me?”  
  
“No,” Sam can’t help the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth at the sight of you. “Of course not.”  
  
“I missed you. Where did you go?”  
  
“To the Notary.” Sam forces an even expression, dreading the idea of telling you that he suspects your father. “I had questions to ask Hardenbrook.”  
  
“And did you learn anything of interest?” You crane your neck to look at him like the prettiest flower trying to arch closer to the warm sun and Sam feels ill.  
  
Sam and Dean exchange a glance.  
  
“Well…perhaps.” Sam falters, heat rising in his cheeks.  
  
“My father-” you start and Sam nearly jumps out of his boots.  
  
“Your father…?”

“Yes,” you nod, eyes narrowing at his strange disposition. Perhaps a night with you has set him on edge. “My father thinks you should return to New York.”  
  
“Really?” Sam balks, as Dean sucks in a breath. “Why is that?”  
  
“I don’t know,” you smirk, looking at Sam’s handsome face. “Perhaps he looked in your ledger and did not like what he saw.”  
  
You leave the ledger open on the desk. Sam steps over to look. Dean follows in tandem. It is a page of doodles with the name “Y/N” written several times, and a sketch of you, beautifully intricate.

Embarrassed, Sam slams the ledger closed.  
  
“He believes townsfolk and country do not mix,” you offer.  
  
Sam opens the drawer in the desk and puts away the document he took from the Notary.  
  
He is nervous because he knows they point to complicity by Y/N’s father. Young Masbath, watching, understands this, Sam locks the drawer and pockets the key.  
  
“What have you there?” you inquire.  
  
“Evidence,” Sam explains. “I’m sorry, I must ask for a few moments of privacy.”  
  
“Then I will leave you to your thoughts. Sleep well, Constable.” You brush past him, letting your hand brush over his, a subtle invitation.  
  
You leave and Sam looks to Dean, saving his commentary for when they’re truly alone.

“Look at that.” Sam points to a huge spider scuttling under his bed. Dean takes a step back, wincing at the sight of it. He’s never liked them.  
  
“It’s only a spider.” Young Masbath smiles at the older constable.  
  
“Why don’t you keep an eye on it. Make sure it doesn’t crawl its way into my room.”

“I saw where it went.” Young Masbath kneels down, looking under Sam’s bed. He turns back to the constables. “There’s something under here.”  
  
“Kill it!” Dean offers.

“Why don’t we simply put it outside.” Sam rolls his eyes. “Let me help you move the bed.”  
  
Young Masbath and Sam move the bed only to reveal a strange pentagram drawn in chalk on the floorboards.  
  
“The Evil Eye!” The boy backs away.  
  
“What is it?” Dean inquires, leaning down to inspect the sigil.

“It is someone casting spells against you.” The boy confirms, looking away as if the mark might take hold of him if he inspects it too closely.  
  
“An evil eye,” Sam repeats, staring at the spider sitting in the middle of the Pentagram.

**Van Tassel House - Y/N’s Room**

“Shhh,” Sam hisses, his nose pressed into your cheek. “Someone will hear us if you keep on like this.”

While he’s right, there’s also a hint of pride in his voice as he takes you from behind, half bent over the heavy wooden vanity. You’re standing on shaky legs with your nightgown around your waist, unable to stifle the desperate pants flowing from between your lips.

“I’ll try to control myself,” you gasp, reaching up and behind to fist a hand in his hair. Twisting to the side you catch his mouth is a sweet, lingering kiss. He’s feeling better, he must be, because he’s fucking you so hard it’s taking the breath right out of your lungs. There’s nothing but lust and unbridled pleasure as his cock moves inside you, again and again, slick running down your thighs. Curling forward he deepens a second kiss as a hand snakes between your legs, finding your bud with sinful precision. He swallows your gasp, nearly growling in response.

Your breath hastens as he strums your body like a well-trained musician. It’s his expert touch combined with the deep stretch of his hard prick that sends you over the edge into ecstasy. You cum with a muffled shout, his hand clapping over your mouth as you arch backward, cunt clutching and squeezing him inside you.

“Perfect,” he mutters, jaw tightening. Grabbing your hips he moves faster and faster, his strokes unrelenting as you shake and shutter. He chases his own release, hips smacking into your backside until he lets out a long, low moan and pulls out. He cums over your buttocks, shooting warm and thick, stroking himself until he’s fully satisfied.

“I’ve made a mess of you,” he chuckles breathlessly, placing a kiss just behind your ear.

“I don’t mind one bit,” you laugh, blissfully exhausted. Using a handkerchief he wipes you clean, before tucking himself back into his pants. The moment you turn around his arms engulf your waist, twisting together at the small of your back. There’s such a familiar feeling when he holds you close. Being with Sam feels like a safe, happy place that you find yourself longing for when he’s not near.

“I can’t stay,” he explains softly. He’s beautiful in the candlelight, the small lines around his eyes wrinkling when he smiles at you.

“But you must!” you whine, sliding both hands over his chest.

“I wish I could.” One hand abandons your hips in favor of your cheek, thumb stroking back and forth. “But while the Horseman is at large I don’t have the luxury of spending my nights in your bed.” 

“Please be careful,” you insist, searching his eyes. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. I know you’re healing but-”

“I’ll be fine,” he counters, dipping down for a soft kiss. He presses his nose into your cheek, squeezes you as close as he can, nearly taking your feet off the floor. “I have Dean to look after me. There’s no one better suited for the job.”

“I have to admit I’m interested to know what you find out.” You grin, watching as the corners of his mouth twitch. You’re curious by nature and truly eager to find out more about this mystery that’s consumed your life.

“All will be revealed.”

Sam leaves you with one last kiss. And then another. By the time he finally leaves, your lips are swollen and heart bursting with the promise of what’s to come.

**Later That Night…**  
  
Sam and Dean are sitting awake in Dean’s room, silently waiting as the hands of the clock tick past midnight.

“Are you sure you want the answer you may find, brother?” Dean asks, rubbing his finger over the amulet in his hand, a token from their uncle.

“What does that mean?” Sam’s eyes shoot up, back straightening.

“You know full well what I mean. There are layers of secrets here, secrets that may put a stop to your romance.” Dean grins slyly at his brother. “We could leave, go back to New York. You could take the girl with you.”

“If she and I are meant to be she will come with us when the time comes regardless of what puzzles we may solve.” Sam nods firmly, trying to convince himself as much as Dean.

The truth is you are all he thinks about. And he is afraid that their investigation may drive a wedge between you but he can’t stop now. His scrupulous morals won’t let him.

They hear a door creak open and then the creak of the stairs. Sam motions to Dean as he lights a candle. They wait for a few moments and then carefully open the door and sneak out of the room.

They remove their shoes when they come to the stairs, wary of alerting anyone to their presence.  
  
A floorboard creaks in a room at the end of the hallway and they freeze as Sam blows out the candle in his lantern. There’s a light coming from under the door as they inch closer. Footsteps are heard, then a door opening and closing.  
  
“Outside,” Dean whispers as he and Sam creep outside in the pitch black of night in their stocking feet. They follow a faint lantern light moving in the distance.  
  
“What do you think we’re about to come upon?” Sam questions, stopping on the hillside as his eyes adjust to the dark.  
  
“I have no idea.” Dean shakes his head and they advance, both men peering forward to look through the thicket of trees.  
  
There’s a lantern sitting on a rock and on the ground, on a blanket are a man and woman in the midst of rather rough sex.

Sam’s eyes widen and Dean cocks his head as they move closer.  
  
The couple continues to fuck, oblivious to their audience. The man is on top of the woman, grunting desperately. He’s giving it to the woman as hard he can. The woman lies back and her face is revealed as Lady Van Tassel.  
  
Dean reaches over and slaps Sam who shoos his hand away.  
  
Lady Van Tassel pulls down the man’s shirt, exposing his flesh. She raises a small, sharp knife behind his back. Sam is about to shout a warning but Dean stops him.

They watch as Lady Van Tassel brings the blade down to her own hand, slicing deep into her palm. Blood flows and she rubs the cut over her partners back, smearing red blood.  
  
She then caresses the man’s chest, neck, and face, trailing blood until he’s covered. The man lifts his head, in apparent ecstasy as he sucks on the woman’s fingers revealing he’s none other than the Reverend Steenwyck.

The constables back away, having seen more than enough. When they return to the house Young Masbath is waiting for them.  
  
“What was there?” the boy asks Dean.

“Something I wish I had not seen. A beast with two backs.”  
  
“A beast with two backs?” Young Masbath mumbles in amazement. “What is next in these bewitched woods?!”

“Dean,” Sam shoots a warning shot. “Don’t tease the boy.”  
  
The three of them make their way back to Sam’s room. His desk drawer is visibly open, and he inspects it already knowing the worst.  
  
The documents have been taken.  
  
Young Masbath suddenly sniffs the air. He signals to Dean. He sniffs again, pointing to the grate in the fireplace as the source of the smell: the documents burned to ashes.  
  
“Someone is working against us.” Sam ticks his jaw, anger bubbling to the surface.


	12. Twelve

  *     * **The Next Day, Kitchen**  
  
“Y/N will not see you. She made that clear.” Lady Van Tassel explains calmly to Sam. His eyes fall to the bandage on her hand, before refocusing.

  
“Did she say anything?” Sam inquires, his stomach sinking at your refusal.  
  
“Only that she will not come down,” the lady of the house explains.  
  
“I see,” Sam nods, already planning his next move. He’s alienated you, the only woman that he’s dared to care for in over a decade. He couldn’t let you slip away that easily. “Thank you.”  
  
Sam turns to go.  
  
“Constable, you have not asked me how I hurt my hand since yesterday, which would have been polite. In fact, you have been as careful not to look at it as not to mention it.”  
  
She strips off the bandage to show a roughly sewn cut.  
  
“Yes,” Sam forces a smile. “I am so sorry. How did you-”

She lunges toward him grabbing him by the wrist and Sam stumbles back but she doesn’t release her hold.

“I know you saw me,” she whispers, twisting her head to the side as she looks up at him.

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“I know you and your brother followed me last night. You must promise not to tell my husband what you saw. Promise me!”

Sam tries to pull away, but her grip only tightens. The front door slams.

“Reverend Steenwyck has power over me,” she implores.

“Power?” his eyes narrow. “What power do you speak of?”

“He knows something terrible against my dear husband. What you witnessed was the price of Steenwyck’s silence,” she explains, looking toward the door to ensure their privacy.

“What does Steenwyck know?” Sam urges as footsteps grow closer and the handle turns

“Later,” she quips, pulling away as Baltus enters.

“This town is in a ferment. Horror piled on tragedy. Hardenbrook is dead. Hanged.”

Sam watches as he goes straight to the flagon on the side table and pours himself a drink.

“Oh,” Lady Van Tassel grips her hands together. “That harmless old man?”

“He hanged himself in the night!” Baltus explains, looking peaked.

“Hanged himself?” Sam inquires. This doesn’t feel right, something is amiss.

“Reverend Steenwyck has called a meeting at the church tonight. Every man, woman, and child.” He turns to speak directly to Sam. “He will speak against you and your brother. If you are wise you’ll be gone from here. Steenwyck’s congregation is already halfway to being a mob.”

“We will go when we have done what we came to do,” Sam retorts, squaring off his shoulders.  
  
Lady Van Tassel comes to calm her husband and Baltus notices her wound.  
  
“What is this?” He asks, taking her hand in his.

“I was careless with the kitchen knife.” She offers.

“It looks angry.”

“I’ll bind it later with wild arrowroot flowers. I know where they grow. Will you ride with me?”  
  
Sam leaves the couple and slips silently out of the room. He climbs the stairs and stops at your door, knocking quietly but there’s no answer. His own desires get the better of him and he opens the door.

Your bed has been slept in but it’s empty. You’re not here. In the grate of your fire is a telltale heap of charred paper, recognizable as the rest of Sam’s documents.

He closes his eyes, trying to settle himself. You’ve turned his world upside down and now you’re right in the middle of this real-life nightmare.  
  
A sound at the door makes him whip around. It is Young Masbath.  
  
“I saw her riding away towards the old pasture.”

  
  
**Sleepy Hollow Windmill**  
  
A small pile of straw burns. Gloved hands unfold a paper filled with hair clippings, which are sprinkled on the fire.  
  
A cloaked figure kneels at the pile, removing a human skull from a cloth bag. The skull is placed at the center in the flames. Its teeth are sharp, cut to points - the horseman’s skull.

  
**  
Van Tassel Estate- Fields  
**  
Sam rides, approaching the ruined cottage. He finds you crouched over the hearthstone as your horse grazes freely.

“Y/N,” Sam implores as he dismounts.

You’ve made a small fire, casting a spell. Still mumbling as you turn toward him in anger and tears. You’ve never felt more betrayed in your entire life.  
  
“You took the documents and burned them?” he asks softly, already knowing the answer. There’s no real accusation in his voice, just a sad confirmation.

“So you would not accuse my father!” you shout, standing up. There’s anger bubbling in your veins.

“I accuse no one. But if there is guilt I cannot alter it no matter how much it grieves me, and no spell of yours can alter it either.” He steps forward.  
  
“If you knew my father you would not have such harsh thoughts about him - nor if you felt anything for me!” you cry out, fresh tears fall down your cheeks. “Am I just another notch in your belt? A girl from the village that you have every intention of using and leaving behind?”

“Of course not!” Sam’s desperate, in just as much torment as you are. “I am pinioned by a chain of reasoning! Why else did his four friends conspire to conceal-”

“You are the Constable, not I. So find another chain of reasoning and let us be.”  
  
“I cannot. Not the one or the other.” Sam steps close and you step back in tandem. “I am heartsick with it.”

“I think you have no heart,” you whisper, wiping tears. “And I had a mind once to give you mine.”  
  
You mount your horse, which rears up. You’re momentarily like a female warrior, eyes ablaze with rage and sadness.

“I think you loved me that day you followed me into the Western Woods! To have braved such peril.” Sam pleads, unable to think of how to make this right.  
  
“What peril was there for me if it was my own father who controlled the Headless Horseman?” You shake your head, looking away from him. “Goodbye, Sam Winchester! I curse the day you came to Sleepy Hollow!”

Sam watches you gallop away, his heart twisting in an anguish he hasn’t felt for a long time and he’s powerless to stop you.  
  
  
**The Fields**

A distant bell is tolling as Baltus waits on his horse, watching where Lady Van Tassel can be glimpsed among the spaced trees gathering “arrowroot flowers.”  
  
“Come. Hurry up!” he calls out. “The meeting bell has started toning.”  
  
He looks anxiously toward the village, then back to the trees where to his horror he sees the Headless Horseman moving slowly toward Lady Van Tassel, calmly unsheathing his sword.

  
**  
Town Square - Church**  
  
People are entering the Church while the bell tolls them in, watched grimly by Steenwyck.  
  
Even more people are heading toward the Church. In the shadows, Sam and Dean, hatted and cloaked, also watch the people going by, spotting you among them.  
  
Out of nowhere, Baltus comes charging through the town square on his horse.  
  
“The Horseman!” he cries out in terror.  
  
Baltus is barely hanging on. He stops, falling off his horse, scrambling toward you.  
  
“Save me.” He whimpers as you embrace him.

“Father?” You gather him in your arms, confused as to what’s happening.

“He’s killed her!” Your father is shaking in fear. “The Horseman has killed your stepmother!”  
  
Hoofbeats can be heard in the distance, the screechy cry of Daredevil. As you look into the distance the Horseman rides into view.  
  
Instant mayhem breaks loose. The few people in the churchyard flee, heading for the church. Your father pulls himself from your arms, breaking out in a sprint toward the church.  
  
“Father!” you call out, chasing after him.

Sam now sees that his “case” is falling apart. He, Dean, and Young Masbath start running in the same direction.  
  
Baltus pushes through the iron gate, across the churchyard, bounding up the stairs with you hot on his heels.  
  
The Horseman rides behind, closing in.  
  
The Constables, with Young Masbath, follow into the churchyard. Sam glances back.

“I know what you are thinking,” Sam shouts.

“It seems Baltus is not the one who controls the Horseman,” Dean confirms.  
  
As the Horseman reaches the open gate, Daredevil rears up violently, snorting, unwilling to enter.  
  
Baltus makes his way into the church, shoving people aside, searching for a hiding place toward the back as you follow.  
  
Men pass rifles from stockpiles and climb onto pews at the boarded windows. Women herd children into the cellar.  
  
At the front of the Church, Sam, Dean, and Young Masbath squeeze in just as the front doors are forced shut, surveying the madness.  
  
The Winchesters run to a window, looking out between the boards.  
  
At the churchyard gates, the Horseman grabs Daredevils reins, tries to move forward again with the same result, the horse will not cross the boundary.  
  
The Horseman gives his ax an underhand toss to the ground inside the gate. The ax instantly begins to degrade, like dust in the rain.  
  
The Horseman steers away, keeping outside the fence.  
  
Sam comes away from the window, looking to the mass of panicked citizens. He sees you pushing up the aisle, heading toward Baltus.  
  
You turn to Sam, face aflame with accusation.  
  
Sam is humbled, desperate to make it up but you run toward the Altar, where you prostrate yourself, evidently in a paroxysm of despair.  
  
Rifles boom loudly as men at the windows begin firing. The Horseman circles, under fire. Great clouds of gun smoke pour from the Church. Men fire down from the belfry. Parts of the Horseman and Daredevil splatter red as slugs hit, without effect.  
  
At the other side of the Church, The Horseman circles, heading to the town square.

Riflemen shout to each other, running to the opposite windows to follow the Horseman.  
  
Young Masbath grabs a rifle, leaps to join the brigade.  
  
Baltus is trying to force his way to one of the cellar doors, when Steenwyck grips him angrily, shoves him.  
  
“You’ll kill us all!” The Reverend shouts.  
  
Baltus stumbles back, topples pews.  
  
“You’re the one the Horseman wants.” Steenwyck grabs Baltus, dragging him to the front as Sam and Dean push past people, trying to get to them.  
  
The Horseman brings Daredevil to a halt, yanks a large coil of rope off a hitching post, turns to ride back.  
  
Baltus pulls free from Steenwyck, falls to the floor again.  
  
“Why should we die for you?” The Reverend shouts, eyes wild. “Get out!”  
  
Others join the rage, pulling Baltus toward the front of the Church, shouting. Sam and Dean join in, struggling to push people off of Baltus.  
  
“Stop this!” Sam yells, finally getting to Baltus’ side to try and protect him.  
  
“The Horseman cannot enter! It does not matter who he wants, he cannot cross the gate!”  
  
At the windows, one rifleman cries out. “He’s coming back!”

There’s more panic and Steenwyck points toward Baltus. “We have to save ourselves.”

In the chaos, Baltus pulls the pistol from Sam’s holster.

“No! Unhand me! Stand off!” He brandishes the gun as the crowd retreats.

The Horseman rides past the front as bullets whiz through the air. He halts at the wrought iron gate, trotting the length. With inhuman strength, he grabs one of the sharp, pointed posts, twisting it free.

Baltus holds everyone away with the pistol, enraged and deranged. “The next person to lay hands on me will have a bullet.”  
  
Doctor Lancaster, who so far has just been one of the crowd, now pushes his way between Steenwyck and Baltus.  
  
“Enough have died already!” Doctor Lancaster looks to Steenwyck meaningfully. “It is time to confess our sins and ask God to forgive our trespasses!”  
  
“Don’t be a fool!” Steenwyck hisses. “I warn you, Doctor Lancaster!”

“What is it that you know?” Baltus looks to the Doctor.  
  
“Your four friends played you false. We were devilishly possessed by one who-”  
  
That’s as far as he gets before Steenwyck wrenches a heavy ornate cross from the wall and smashes his skull with a blow of tremendous force.  
  
Baltus fires, blasting a bloody hole in Steenwyck’s stomach.

“What in the holy hell is happening!” Dean shouts as he and Sam look on in horror.  
  
Everyone backs farther away as Steenwyck falls, lies gasping, eyes huge as he tries to crawl away.  
  
You rise to your feet and standing, stare wide-eyed at the horror. Sam moves toward you, pushing through the crowd. “Y/N! Come to me!”  
  
Steenwyck lays still with a bloody gurgle, face down. Baltus looks to all the terrified people around him.  
  
“There is a conspiracy here! And I will seek it out!” Baltus shouts at the crowd.  
  
_Crash._

The iron post comes spearing through a window, trailing rope behind it. There’s a crack of flesh splitting as the post skewers Baltus from behind, it’s bloodied point bursting out through his breastbone.

Baltus gasps, stunned. He drops the gun, looks down to clutch the post. Blood streams out of his mouth.  
  
Sam catches you just in time. Horror struck, he hugs you noticing that hanging on a ribbon around your neck is the little carved bauble taken from the neck of the dead Crone. Almost at the same time, Sam sees that on the flagstones where you were lying there is now a “Drawing” done in chalk, identical to the “Evil Eye” drawing he found under his bed.  
  
“The Evil Eye again!” Sam gasps.  
  
At that moment, a piece of white chalk falls from your senseless hand.  
  
“Oh God,” Sam stares at your face in horror, the full implications of this hitting him. “It was you.”  
  
The rope tied to the post suddenly yanks Baltus backward with incredible force, slamming him into the window. Baltus crashes backward through the glass, hitting the ground as he’s dragged outside the fence. The Horseman rides away from the church with the rope tied around his saddle pommel.  
  
Baltus crashes through the fence. The rope snaps and he is held there awkwardly, gurgling blood.

Sam holds you tighter, watching the horrible sight as his stomach turns. “Oh Y/N, Oh God forgive her.”  
  
The Horseman turns Daredevil, riding back, his sword raised high and chops off Baltus’s head.


	13. Thirteen

**Van Tassel House**

You lie insensible in your bed, the ribbon with the bauble around your neck.

  
Sam and Dean stand watching you, but Sam is alone with his grief and this appalling “secret.”  
  
“It was an evil spirit possessed you,” he whispers, wiping hair back from your forehead. “I pray God it is satisfied now, and that you find peace. Good-bye, Y/N. The Evil Eye has done its work. My life is over - spared for a lifetime of horrors in my sleep, waking each day to grief that you have also been taken from me.”  
  
Sam leaves the room and Dean follows, closing the door.

  
  
**Lawn**

Sam, watched by Dean and Young Masbath, stands by a fire burning in a circle of rocks nearby. He has his father’s ledger. After a moment, he throws the ledger onto the fire. The pages catch quickly.  
  
He opens his satchel and digs out a book. Their luggage is packed on the porch.  
  
He walks back to the fire, looks at the book in his hand, the book you gave him. He stands, staring down as a decrepit coach arrives to take the Constables back to New York City.  
  
Van Ripper, the driver, helps Sam and Dean with strapping the load. Young Masbath watches, not helping.  
  
Dean turns to Young Masbath as angry tears come to Young Masbath’s eyes. The farewell is like an argument.  
  
“But who will look for the truth when you have gone?”  
  
“There is no more truth to be found.” Dean places a hand on his shoulder.

“That is why we can go and leave this wretched place behind us.” Sam counters.  
  
“You really think it was Y/N, don’t you?”  
  
Dean clamps his hand over Young Masbath’s mouth. As Sam looks intently into his eyes.  
  
“That can never be uttered. Never.” Sam whispers. “We must keep her secret.”  
  
Dean takes his hand away. “A strange sort of witch…with a kind and loving heart! You honestly believe it to be true?”  
  
“We have a good reason.” Sam’s nostrils flare, unable to think of you without an ache in his chest.  
  
“Then you are bewitched by reason.” The boy cries.  
  
“I am beaten down by it! It’s a hard lesson for a hard world, and you had better learn it, Young Masbath - villainy wears many masks, none so dangerous as the mask of virtue. Farewell!”  
  
Van Ripper climbs onto the coach. Sam looks to the Manor House. Only one light shines, in a second-floor window.  
  
Sam climbs into the coach with Dean behind him. Sam slumps into his seat, pounding twice on the coach wall.  
  
Van Ripper whips the reins and the coach starts. Young Masbath watches, wiping tears.

You wake up as you hear the coach wheels, getting up and running to the window as the coach pulls away. Your heart breaks as you collapse to the ground.  
  
Van Ripper’s coach crosses the covered bridge, past the town square, past the church.  
  
Near Doctor Lancaster’s house, the coach passes a flat cart, on which lies the headless corpse of Lady Van Tassel. Sam looks at the corpse and he notes the gashed palm of one dead hand.  
  
The cart is being pulled at a walking pace by a single horse. The cartman walking, holding the bridle.  
  
The cartman pauses, seeing a rider approaching, traveling in the same direction as Sam’s coach.  
  
Sam realizes that the rider is you. He looks from the coach window and sees you get down from the horse and go to the cart.  
  
Sam pulls back from his window and closes his eyes.  
  
An hour into the ride Sam opens his satchel, takes out a bottle of water and gulps from it. In replacing the bottle, he finds the book you gave him. He opens the book and sees within a diagram drawn on a whole page. Sam recognizes the sketch of the supposed “Evil Eye,” identical to the two they have seen before. But what gets Sam’s real attention is the bold “headline.”  
  
The headline over the picture is “For The Protection of A Loved One Against Evil Spirits.”  
  
Sam gasps and mutters the words aloud. “Dean,” he slaps his brother’s leg, waking him up. “It wasn’t her.” He shows him the book. “But then, who?”  
  
He is puzzled. He stares at his open palms. The scars on his palms trigger a thought.  
  
Then he understands something we will soon understand.  
  
He slides the front window panel to shout through it.  
  
“Van Ripper, turn the coach!”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Turn around, now!”

**VAN TASSEL HOUSE**

Unannounced to you there’s a figure moving through the house. Walking quietly and slowly down the hall, looking inside each room on the ground floor. The unknown intruder stops at the door of the parlor, softly pushing the door open enough to see you on the floor before the fireplace, crying into your hands.

You sit up, staring at the dying embers of the fire and mourning for your father and your now lost love. In twenty-four hours your life has changed brutally, leaving you with no family, alone in the world.

Sam has left you. Runaway in the night while you recovered from the shock of your own father’s murder. The man you thought perhaps loved you the way you’ve come to love him abandoned you when you needed him most and it feels as if the world will never contain another ounce of joy.

There’s a creak from behind you, an old floorboard that cries out when stepped on. You sit up, wiping your eyes.

“Who is it?”

**DOCTOR’S RESIDENCE, MEDICAL ROOM**

Mrs. Lancaster comes to answer the banging on her door, opening it as Sam pushes past with Dean in tow. Sam holds up his lantern, breathing fast.

“Pardon our intrusion.” Sam heaves looking at the two coffins on the floor.  
  
With no pretense the constables each move to a coffin, throwing the lids onto the floor and looking at the headless bodies of Baltus and Lady Van Tassel.

Sam lifts Lady Van Tassel’s hand with the gash on its palm, bending it to study. He pulls at the sewn wound, untying the stitches as Mrs. Lancaster watches in horror.  
  
He looks up to Dean and swallows hard. “No blood flow, no clotting. When the cut was made this woman was already dead.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, understanding what Sam is telling him.

“We need to go, now!”  
  
The Winchesters run from the doctor’s residence to the waiting coach, grabbing the reins. Dean joins him, picking up Van Ripper’s rifle.

“Be with you in a minute,” Van Ripper turns from where he’s urinating on a nearby building.

“We can not wait!” Sam whips the reigns and the coach takes off into the night.

  
  
**VAN TASSEL HOUSE, PARLOR**

“Who is there!” You call out again, trying to spy whoever is hiding the shadows.

The cloaked figure moves closer and you scramble back on your hands and knees.

“Who are you? Reveal yourself!”

The figure steps forward in the dim, flickering light of the fire revealing none other than Lady Van Tassel.  
  
“Dear stepdaughter,” she cackles like a witch, rubbing her hands together. You stand on shaking legs, terrified, confused and overwhelmed.  
  
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” she taunts, swaying gently from side to side.  
  
It’s too much. Your eyes roll up into your head as everything goes black.


	14. Fourteen

**THE SLEEPY HOLLOW WINDMILL**

The interior of the windmill is large and shadowy, cluttered with forgotten boxes and old machinery, everything covered in layers of dust and cobwebs.

You’re still unconscious, lying in the dirt on the floor as Lady Van Tassel cuts off a clump of your hair with a large pair of shears. She holds it up in the lantern light, pleased with her efforts.

She’s prepared a conjuring pile containing a small animal’s heart with an iron nail through it. She adds your hair to the pile, then lights it with the lantern. With a grin she begins whispering over the fire, watching as you stir.

You blink awake, only to be met with the horrific sight of your stepmother pulling the Horseman’s skull from a bag. She places the skull in the fire, eyes fixed on the licking flames.

“Rise up once more, my dark avenger! Rise up! One more night of beheading! Rise up with your sword, and your mistress of the night will make you whole - a head for a head, my unholy horseman. Rise! Rise! Rise from the earth and come forth again through the Tree of the Dead! Come now for Y/N!”  
  
Far away, deep in the western wood, the wind scatters dead leaves. The twisted tree opens wide with a mighty rumble and shafts of light shoot out into the night.

Elsewhere, Sam and Dean are riding at breakneck speed toward the Van Tassel estate, coming as fast as the horse and cart will carry them.

You’re sure you must be seeing things as you sit up, rubbing both eyes. This has to be a dream, nay a nightmare. But your real-life fears are confirmed as Lady Van Tassel turns to you.

“Awake at last. Did you think it was all a nasty dream? Alas, no,” she offers sweetly.  
  
“My father saw the horseman kill you…” You shake your head, trying to make sense of it all.

“He saw the Horseman coming to me with his sword unsheathed!” she snickers. “But it is I who govern the horseman, my dear, and Baltus did not stay to see.”

“But there was your body!” you whisper. Surely she must a ghost or a ghoul.

“The servant girl, Sarah, I always thought she was useless but in the end, she turned out to be quite useful. Tomorrow I’ll totter out of the woods and spin a tale of how I found Baltus and Sarah in the act of lust…as I watched them, the Horseman was upon them! And off went Sarah’s head. I fainted and remember nothing more.”  
  
“Who are you?” You look at her in horror.

“My family name was Archer.” She steps closer.

There’s a flash of the hearth at the ruins of the cottage where you took Sam. “The Archer…”  
  
“I lived with my father, mother, and sister in a gamekeeper’s cottage not far from here. Until one day my father died and the landlord, who received many years of loyal service from my parents, evicted us. No one in the God-fearing town would take us in because my mother was suspected of witchcraft.”  
  
Your eyes flicker to a small figure sneaking out of the shadows, it’s young Masbath creeping up behind her. He raises his arms, holding a large wooden mallet.

“She was no witch.” Lady Van Tassel continues. “But I believe she knew much that lies under the surface of life. And she schooled her daughters well while we lived as outcasts in the Western Woods. She died within a year and my sister and I remained in our refuge, seeing not a soul…until gathering wood one day we crossed the path of the houseman. It was the Hessian that happened upon two young girls gathering firewood. I saw his death that day, watched him buried in a grave. And from that day I offered my soul to Satan if he would raise the Hessian from the grave to avenge me.”   
  
“Avenge you?” You ask, trying to keep your gaze from Masbath who’s quietly working his way behind Lady Van Tassel.  
  
“Against Van Garrett, who evicted my family. Against Baltus Van Tassel who, with wife and simpering girl child, stole our home. I swore I would make myself mistress of all they had.” She cackles, pleased to share the next bit of information. “The easiest part was the first. To enter your house as your mother’s nurse and put her body into the grave, and my own into the marriage bed.”  
  
“No!” You cry out, clapping a hand over your mouth.  
  
“Not quite so easy was to secure my legacy, but lust delivered Reverend Steenwyck into my power. Fear did the same for Notary Hardenbrook. The drunk Philipse succumbed for a share of the proceeds, and the doctor’s silence I exchanged for my complicity in his fornications.”  
  
Masbath moves out into the open, weapon raised. You see him and stifle a gasp, keeping her attention.

“Yes! You have everything now!” you sputter.  
  
“No, my dear, you do. By your father’s will. But I get everything in the event of your death.” She reaches out for the mystic bauble on your neck, ripping it free. “This pretty little charm, which I so kindly gave you to wear, has done its work. My sister, by the way, sadly passed away quite recently. She was just an old crone living in the woods. She tried to help your precious constable and I had to put an end to her. It’s her charm you’ve worn around your neck. A token from the dead.”  
  
Masbath is about ready to bring the mallet down upon Lady Van Tassel’s head.

“You killed your own sister?”  
  
“She brought it upon herself.” Like a whiplash, she turns, laughing at Masbath. “By helping you and your master!”

Masbath shrieks and drops the mallet to the floor with a thud.

“You are just in time to have your head sliced off!” she screams.

You scramble to your feet as Masbath runs into your arms. Thunder booms and lightning lights up the sky as Lady Van Tassel looks up.

“The Horseman comes! And tonight he comes for you!”  
  
You hold Masbath’s hands, clutching each other in fear.  
  
Lady Van Tassel picks up the Horseman’s skull in her gloved hand and tips back her head to give a long, animal howl. In the distance you hear the screech of a horse answering back.  
  
You turn to run, taking the boy with you and Lady Van Tassel just watches in amusement.

“Run!” She calls. “Run! There is no escape from certain death!”

  
  
**VAN TASSEL HOUSE**

Sam leaps from the coach, and runs up the porch stairs.  
  
“Y/N!” He pounds on the door.

“Sam,” Dean draws his attention to the firelight at the Windmill in the distance. Both men leap back onto the coach and take off.

  
  
**WINDMILL**

Thunder booms and the wind howls. Lady Van Tassel stands in the doorway with the skull in her hand, laughing up into the night.  
  
You pull Masbath behind you, only to be met with the sight of the coach driving toward you and the heart-bursting sight of the Constables Winchester.  
  
“Sam!” you yell, so happy to see him that tears spring to your eyes. He’s come back for you.

The coach stops and he jumps down as you go to him, throwing yourself into his arms.

“Thank God,” he murmurs, holding you tight.

Lady Van Tassel’s mad laughter is heard and you turn to see her on horseback. Along the treeline the horseman breaks into the open, galloping at full speed.

“Hell on horseback,” Sam breathes, holding you tighter.  
  
“He’s coming for me.” With a cry you pull away, ready to run.  
  
“Have you come back to arrest him, constables?” Lady Van Tassel calls.

Sam thinks fast, moving to the windmill, your hand in a death grip. Dean follows with Masbath in tow.  
  
“Do we have a plan?” Dean calls out.  
  
“Quickly!” Sam ushers them up the ladder.  
  
Behind, the wind tosses Lady Van Tassel’s dress and hair. She holds the Horseman’s skull high.  
  
Young Masbath scurries up the ladder and in. You’re next, then the two brothers just as the Horseman is upon you. The Horseman dismounts, stalking forward.

Sam leaps up, lifts the heavy trap door on its hinges, slams it shut. The door is pounded from outside, buckling.  
  
“It won’t hold!” Dean shouts the warning, backing up with the boy behind him.

Sam goes to a large grindstone against the wall, rolling the heavy piece onto the trap door where is falls with a thud. A sword jabs up through the grindstone’s center hole.  
  
The sword withdraws and the pounding continues. You back away, joining Masbath as Dean moves forward to Sam’s side. Sam holds up his lantern, looking desperately around the room.

Above, to the right, is a high milling platform, where flour is ground and bagged and a ladder leading to it. To the left is a crooked, open staircase.

Sam picks up two bailing hooks, giving one to Dean. He hands off his lantern to you and points. “Get up these stairs. Open the door to the roof and wait.”  
  
You obey, heading left to the crooked stairs as Sam and Dean cross to the right, climbing the ladder to the milling platform. Once on the platform, Sam grasps a wooden lever, pulling it. The entire windmill creaks and groans as massive gears and counterwheels above begin to turn.

Outside the windmill’s rotors slowly start to spin as the Horseman tries to chop his way inside.  
  
You look down from the stairway, the pounding on the trapdoor making the grindstone jump.  
  
“Sam,” you call, looking to him.

“Keep climbing, Y/N. It will be alright, I will follow.”

“You hope,” Dean mutters under his breath.

Dean drags large bags of grain, lining them up at the edge of the milling platform. You and Masbath throw open the door to the roof.  
  
Using the baling hook, Sam cuts holes into the grain bags, so that milled grain spills out and falls onto the floor below creating a cloud of grain dust. He grabs one bag and slices it open, dumping all the contents. Then he guts the sack hanging from the pulley system, pushing it so it swings in circles, grain flooding out. More dust rises, filling the air.

You crawl out onto the roof, standing next to Masbath, gigantic rotors spinning behind you.  
  
The grindstone blocking the trap door falls through as wood splinters and gives. A moment later the Horseman climbs in.

“Behind you!” You warn, looking down from above.  
  
Sam looks down, seeing the Horseman, then looks to the staircase from the height of the platform. “We must jump.”

They both take off in a sprint, leaping across the space between the platform and the stairs. Dean grasps the railing, pulling himself up and then helps Sam to safety.

Below the Horseman moves through the cloud of billowing dust, running and leaping incredibly high. He grabs the hanging chain, swinging, his momentum carrying him in a wide arc.  
  
Above, Sam and Dean run upstairs to the roof door.  
  
The Horseman uses his weight to swing himself toward the stairwell. He releases the chain and becomes airborne, landing high up on the stairs.  
  
You help Sam onto the roof, as Masbath does the same for Dean.

“Quickly!” you cry out. “Close it!”

“No,” Sam takes the lantern from you and points. “Get to the crest of the roof and be ready to jump.”  
  
“Jump?” Masbath looks to Dean in horror as the eldest Winchester places a hand on his shoulder.  
  
The Horseman clomps upstairs, ax in hand.  
  
The Winchesters shepard you and Masbath to the edge where the rotors spin close.

“Jump for the sails,” Sam explains, placing a hand on each shoulder. “Wait till I give the word.”  
  
“Sam!” You panic, tears falling. “I can’t-”

“Yes you can, my love.” He smiles gently. “Hand in hand, we will jump together. Get ready.”  
  
Sam moves back to the trap door.  
  
You and Young Masbath look at the rotors, and down at the long distance between them and the ground.  
  
“Be ready…” Sam cautions and drops the lantern into the windmill and runs.

“Now!” Sam runs toward you, reaching out to take your hand as you both jump. You hit one rotor, gripping the frame and cloth as it begins its downward turn.  
  
Inside the lantern hits the ground and shatters as flames explode. Throughout the windmill’s interior, grain dust is consumed instantaneously, the fire roaring upward, engulfing the Horseman.  
  
The rotor is halfway to its lowest point. The four of you hang on in desperation as the entire structure trembles. Flames shoot out the windows, doors, and seams of the structure.

Sam struggles to keep his grip on you as you both slide. Dean and Masbath drop as you and Sam fall with a shout. You hit the ground with a thud.

“Are you alright?” Sam asks, rolling toward you holding his shoulder.

“I will be.” You scramble to your feet.  
  
The four of you run away as smoldering debris rains down.

Sam keeps you close as you run, heading uphill. Lightning flashes across the sky, thunder cracking.

Behind, the windmill begins to crumble, huge burning sections crashing to the ground.  
  
You all stop to look back at the incredible conflagration.  
  
“Is he dead?” Masbath asks, moving closer to Dean.

“He was dead to start with. That’s the problem.” Dean delivers deadpan, staring at the spectacle before them.

“Look!” You point, pressing yourself against Sam.

Out of the rubble the Horseman rises, shoving off burning debris from his shoulders. His flame-ravaged uniform smolders.

The Winchesters turn to each other searching for possibilities. Dean spots the coach and the horses not too far away.  
  
“Come on!” he yells, gripping Masbath by the arm. Sam picks you up, just as he did in the Western Woods, long legs carrying you faster than you could ever run yourself.  
  
“Get in.” He sets you on the ground, helping you inside the coach with Masbath and shutting the door.

The coach hits the long straight road, rumbling at top speed away from the Van Tassel Estate, into the forest.  
  
You and Masbath both look out opposite windows as the trees whip by.

“Where are we going?” you scream as Sam looks back to you.  
  
“Anywhere!”

“He’s right behind!” Masbath screeches. The Horseman gives chase, closing in fast.  
  
“Make for the church!” you suggest, heart thumping faster and harder.

“We’ll never reach it!” Dean calls back.  
  
Young Masbath grabs Sam’s satchel and offers it out the window.

“Here sir, you must have something in your bag of tricks.”

“Nothing that will help us, I am afraid. Get out here and take the reigns.”

Masbath crawls out the window, and into the seat, taking the horses. Sam and Dean each take a rifle from their stations, crawling side by side onto the roof of the coach.   
  
Sam gets to a baggage area at the rear, struggling to open the storage box.

Behind the Horseman draws his sword, getting closer. Sam opens the box and pulls out a jagged hand saw.

“What are you planning to do with that?” Dean yells, looking to Sam as if he’s insane.

“Look out!” you shout.

Sam looks up as the Horseman rides up, swinging his sword. Both men recoil, the sword narrowing missing. The Hessian falls back, letting the coach ride ahead, shifting to the other side of the trail and coming alongside again.

Sam scrambles back, shouting to Masbath. “Keep him off! Block him!”

Masbath guides the horses over to the other side of the road, the Horseman falling behind to avoid the wheels and slowing his stead.  
  
One wheel hits a large rock, Sam is thrown in the air and drops the saw, sliding off the side of the coach as the saw clatters on the road. He tries for better purchase, gripping the coach door.

“Take my hand,” Dean shouts, looking over the top of the coach, reaching to his brother.  
  
Sam reaches up but the coach door falls open, his pistol falls from his holster and is lost on the trail. He clings helplessly to the door as branches slam into him.  
  
The Horseman, now on foot, stands in the middle of the road with Dare Devil behind him.  
  
To your horror, the coach slows until it eases to a stop in the middle of the road. You climb out as Sam gets to his feet, Dean and Masbath joining to examine the ruined wheel.

“This is not good.” Sam looks to Dean as earnest panic sets in. “He’s coming for her.”

“We’re doomed,” Masbath breathes with tears in his eyes.

“Not yet,” Dean grabs his arm “We have to get out of the open somehow. Follow me.”  
  
You turn to run, but Sam stops you, grabbing your shoulders to pull you back against him. Riding over the crest of the hill comes Lady Van Tassel on her white horse, with Sam’s pistol in her hand.  
  
“What? Still alive?” She calls out, eyes trained on you.

“Run, Y/N!” He places a hand on your waist, urging you to move. “Go now, we will hold her off.”  
  
“Sam, we have larger problems.” Dean nods to the Horseman who’s now walking in their direction.  
  
Lady Van Tassel points her gun at you. “Yes, do run little bird. And skip.” She takes aim. “And now let’s see a somersault.”

“Run!” Sam gives you a final look and turns, running full bore at your stepmother. She aims at him and fires, shooting Sam in the chest and he instantly falls to the ground.

“No!” you scream, turning back to run towards his limp body.

Dean cries out, dropping to his knees beside Sam. You scamper toward them but Lady Van Tassel intercepts you, grabbing you by the hair.  
  
“Let me go!” you scream, trying in vain to twist away from her. “Let me go to him!”

She pulls you off toward the Horseman as Sam lays with a smoldering wound in his chest as Dean lifts his head.  
  
“Oh God, no…no…no,” Dean shakes his brother. “Wake up! Don’t leave me now.”  
  
Your captor drags you as you scream and kick and struggle, anything to get away as the Horseman closes in. She stops her horse halfway to the Horseman, dropping you into the dirt before riding away shouting.

“There she is. Take her, she’s yours!”  
  
You get up to run, but instead, stumble and fall as the Hessian strides toward you.

In the field Sam’s eyes pop open as he gasps for air, feeling his chest with both hands. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, struggling to shake off delirium.  
  
“You’re not dead,” Dean laughs, slapping him on the shoulder.

“Not yet.” Sam sits up, watching the scene that’s unfolding.

Lady Van Tassel is turned on her horse with her back to them, keeping her distance from the Horseman. Beyond her, you flee in his direction with the Horseman at your heels.  
  
Then Sam sees it, the black saddle bag slung over Lady Van Tassel’s horse. He gets to his feet out of pure determination, unwilling to lose you.

You’re running and screaming, in full panic as the Horseman closes in. Lady Van Tassel is watching, grinning unaware as Sam begins to sprint at her, leaping and tackling her off her horse. He takes her down to the ground hard and her bags fall open as the Horseman’s skull rolls out.  
  
Sam scrambled toward the skull but falls as Lady Van Tassel grips his legs, holding him. Sam looks up, the Horseman is now mere yards from you as you tremble in fear. Sam struggles to free himself as Dean moves in holding a tree branch and brings it down on Lady Van Tassel’s head.  
  
The Horseman grabs you, holding you by the hair as you fall to your knees, pleading for your life. Sam scrambles to his feet, picking up the skull and throwing it with all his might.

“Horseman!” Sam yells, pointing toward the skull.

The Horseman drops you, reaching up with a hand and catches it.  
  
You run toward Sam and he meets you halfway, grabbing you as you fall. Taking your hand he pulls you away.  
  
The Horseman holds the skull out, bringing it to his shoulders, to its rightful place as thunder pounds in the sky. A transformation begins, blood and flesh rising up from the Horseman’s throat to grip the skull as you all watch, dumbfounded.  
  
The Horseman’s reformation continues, muscle forming, liquid becoming solid as he is made whole once more and you see the evil human face you’ve heard about in your father’s stories.

He looks to you and Sam, touching his restored face as Daredevil rides up to claim him. He replaces his sword and climbs into the saddle.

He rides towards you and Sam but passes you by as you both collapse, exhausted to the ground. Dean and Masbath scramble to your side.  
  
The Horseman leans down to grab Lady Van Tassel’s unconscious form, pulling her up onto the horse’s back and rides away with her.

You look at Sam, shaking and crying as you reach out to kiss him, reveling in the feeling of his hand cupping your face and his lips pressed to yours.

“You saved me,” you breathe, looking into his eyes.

“We saved each other.” Sam smiles, turning to his brother and Masbath. “How are you two?”

“Weary, sir,” Masbath confirm.

You spy the bullet hole in his clothes, pressing your finger into it.

“I thought I’d lost you,” you sputter, unable to hold back the tears that are now flowing.

Sam reaches into his vest, pulling out the book he’s kept in his inner pocket, close to his heart, The Books of Spells with a bullet lodged in it.

He grins and you wrap your arms around him, burying your head in his neck.

  
  
**WESTERN WOODS, TREE OF THE DEAD**  
  
Hoofbeats grow louder as the Horseman enters the clearing holding Lady Van Tassel, the Tree of the Dead awaits his return.

The lady awakens, the Horseman grips her hair, pulling her face close to his just as her eyes open.  
  
She screams and the Horseman kisses her, his jagged teeth sinking into the flesh of her mouth.  
  
Ahead the twisted tree’s wound opens, deep and glowing as the horse picks up speed. Daredevil jumps into the air as a lightning bolt blasts down from the sky, striking the Horseman. For an instant, the Horseman and horse are transformed, skeletons of lightning entering the tree.  
  
There is silence and smoke, and when it clears Lady Van Tassel’s hand sticks out from the tight-shut suture. The sewn wound on her palm seeps blood as her fingers curl inward.


	15. Fifteen

**NEW YORK CITY**

A coach pulls up to Sam’s building. He exits first, holding the door open and offering you a hand to help you down. You look around, utterly overwhelmed by the sights of the city as he takes your hand in his, watching you with gentle affection.

Masbath and Dean tumble out of the carriage and onto the street. He spots a cat, turning to Dean with excitement.

“Are you ready for a new home, my boy?” Dean asks Masbath, wrapping his arm around the child’s shoulders.

“Oh boy, am I!” he exclaims.

You are equally entranced by the bustling metropolis.

“Look,” you turn to Sam, eyes wide. “Cobblestone streets. Just as I’ve read.”  
  
“Yes, New York and just in time for the new Century. It’s the modern age, Y/N.” His arm slips around your waist.  
  
“It’s always the modern age, Sam, but the ancient ones also endure.”  
  
“We’re going to leave you here, brother.” Dean pulls Sam in for an embrace. “I think I’ve had enough adventure for a lifetime. I need to get this boy home to Jo.”

“She’ll be over the moon.” Sam grins. “Perhaps we can meet for dinner this coming Saturday?”

“I’ll plan on it.” Dean pulls his coat tighter around him as snow begins to fall. “Come Young Masbath, let’s get you home.”

Tucked under Sam’s arm you watch as they climb into the carriage and ride off into the distance.

“Come,” Sam urges, taking your hand and picking up one of his cases with the other. “Let’s get you inside before you freeze to death.”

His flat is on the top floor and enormous, taking up the entire east side of the building. You look around at the gray walls and sparse decorations.

“I know it’s not much to look at. I’ve lived as a bachelor for most of my life. The place could use a woman’s touch.” He curls around you to kiss your cheek before moving to the fireplace. “It’ll be warm in no time.”

After he starts a fire, he disappears to collect the rest of the bags and you begin to explore your new home. The walls are papered with posters, diagrams and a sprawling blueprint of the city sewer system. The walls are lined with glass jars containing all manner of strange creatures and dead animals. Your first order of business will be to ensure that his workspace and your living quarters are somewhat separated. Making love in the bed, not ten feet away, while staring at a long-dead rat is not your idea of romance.

“What do you think?” he asks, standing behind you. His face is expectant but uncertain. “We can paint the walls and buy new furniture.”

“What about a house?” You raise an eyebrow and he looks as if he’s never thought of that.

“A house?”

“Yes, a townhome. A home where you could have many rooms for your various laboratory experiments and research, and I may have many rooms to prune flowers and read my books.”

“You want to move.” His cheeks flush red and you’re instantly displeased with yourself, making him feel inadequate. While you might be from a small village, you come from a wealthy family, in stark contrast to Sam’s working-class background.

“I just-” You move toward him, reaching to slide two hands around his neck. “I was thinking that we both need a fresh start in life. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a place that’s ours?”

“Of course,” he smiles, a sad little offering that tells you there’s more to come. “Y/N…I’m not entirely sure I can afford the type of home you’d like on a police officers budget.”

“That’s not a worry,” you explain, brushing your finger up the back of his neck and into his hair. “I have a significant inheritance. What better than to use it on than a new start?”

“I didn’t bring you home with me for you to spend all your money.” He looks flustered and you’re unsure of why until he continues. “It’s my job to provide for you, not the other way around.”

“Well, perhaps you should stop thinking in terms of mine and yours and start thinking of ours.” You smile slyly, slinking back away from him. “And maybe someday you’ll make me an honest woman, and then there would truly be no distinction.”

“Do you want that?” he asks, coming to you, one hand on your hip, the other under your jaw as you stare up at him. “To be my wife?”

“I wouldn’t have come with you if I had any doubt.”

“Well,” his smile spreads until his cheeks round out. “We can talk more about that, but my first order of business is to get you out of this dress and into my bed.”

You giggle, biting your lip, squealing in joy as he picks you up. He drops you unceremoniously into his bed then jumps on top of you before you have a chance to try and wiggle away. His mouth finding your lips.

He pulls back, looking at down you, lust-drunk eyes scanning your bosom. “This is your home now, you should feel free to forgo these dresses when you’re here.”

You laugh, squirm under the weight of him. “You’ll have me naked like some kind of wanton woman?”

“Absolutely, now sit up so I can get you out of this.”

He strips you down until you’re naked and shivering in the cold of the loft. But it’s only a moment before his warm, naked body is pressed over you, wedging his hips between your legs. The silky soft head of his cock taps your thigh and you open yourself even further, encouraging him to take you then and there but he has other ideas.

“I made you a promise in Sleepy Hollow,” he mumbles, lips kissing the dip between your collar bones.

“I remember.” You gasp as his mouth trails lower, over the soft flesh of your belly.

Settling between your legs, he hooks his hands over both knees, spreading you open. You watch him bury his face in your cunt, his tongue sliding up and down your folds before splitting you open and sinking inside.

“Sam!” you gasp, neck arching back as he pushes his tongue deeper. Just as your hands slide into his hair he moves upward, finding your pearl and licking small circles around the tender flesh that seems to control the pleasure response for your entire body. Thick shoulders wedge between your thighs, holding you open, licking and sucking until you’re sweating and moaning with abandon.

The feeling is growing and building as you buck your hips down to his face, desperate for more and then suddenly his mouth is gone. Your eyes pop open only to find him hovering above, taking your mouth in an urgent kiss, hips pressing against your slick thighs. You can taste yourself on him, moaning softly, hands twisting into his hair as his tongue glides over yours.

“I love you,” he whispers, not giving you time to respond before resuming the kiss. One hand snakes between your bodies, lining up his cock as he presses inside. It’s a long, deep slide as he stretches you open just to fill you up.

Both your mouths fall open in gratification, pressed against one another in a half kiss that’s nothing more than gasps and breath. You breathe him in, mouth taking his with fervor as he pulls out only to find his way back inside. This time letting the swollen head of his cock catch your folds before finding a consistent rhythm that serves to fan the flames of desire inside you.

“Please don’t stop,” you plead, winding closer and closer to your peak. “You feel so good.”

“Let me hear you,” he growls, sucking at your neck. “There’s no need to be quiet here.”

“Sam!” you call out as he grinds deep, holding himself inside before resuming steady strokes. You allow yourself to let go, moaning and whimpering freely as he works your body.

“Will you come undone?” he grits into your temple, hiking your leg up over his hip. “Come undone here in my bed with my cock inside you?”

You’ve never had anyone use such language, not in even in the romance novels you love so much, but the moment the words leave his mouth your cunt throbs around him. Betraying your lust before you have the opportunity to vocalize it.

“Yes,” you pant, pressing your breasts up to his chest. “I’m close.”

“Do you want me to finish inside you?” He’s sweating, wild hair hanging around his face as he thrusts faster and faster.

“Yes, I want all of you.” Your admission is met with the wet smack of his body into yours, once, twice and on the third time, he groans, dropping his face into your neck as he spurts warm and thick inside your aching pussy. The sensation spurs your own end, sending you over the edge, left twitching and jerking under the weight of him, squeezing his cock within your depths.

He stays within you, propping himself onto his arms as he kisses you with quick breath, refusing to let the moment end until he’s pulled every last sliver of satisfaction from it.

-

On your first full day in New York City Sam drops you at the dressmaker, leaving you with a kiss and a promise of time together that evening. He needs to report his findings to the council and you require a more fashionable wardrobe if you are to fit into modern society.

It’s a full afternoon of fittings and fabric selections. By the time the bell above the door rings announcing his return, you’re exhausted. He holds your hand as the two of you walk down the busy sidewalk, heading toward a restaurant that he’s sure you’ll love. Hand in hand you walk the streets, grateful for his guidance as you’re permanently distracted by the cacophony of sights and sounds.

“Are you cold?” he inquires, taking your small fist into both his hands.

“Not when I have you.” You grin. “The tailor offered me a whiskey before I left the shop. That helps as well.”

“Ah,” he chuckles, pulling your arm into his.

“Do you think it will take me long to become acclimated to the city?” Leaning into him you enjoy being this close and the freedom to express your affection for each other.

“I shouldn’t think so.” He looks down at you, pink cheeks rounding out as hot breath puffs into the frigid air. “Once you understand the order of the streets you’ll be good as gold. But I don’t expect you to have occasion to be out on your own. There are dangers here, different than the ones back in Sleepy Hollow, but dangers nonetheless.”

“I must make a friend then, so I’m not trapped inside all day. I was told of a ladies society, I think I’ll join.”

“That sounds like a perfect fit.” Sam slows down, turning to face you, gloved hands holding your shoulders. “You don’t miss your home?”

“I have a home here, now. So you see, there’s nothing to miss as long as I have you.” You smile, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him.

“I could never have dreamed that I would find such love among murder and darkness.” He lifts his hand, the cold leather of his glove sweeping over your cheek.

“I think the truest love is unexpected.” You gaze at him feeling as if your heart may burst. “We found each other against all reason. Don’t you forget that, my sweet constable. What we have between us cannot be measured, quantified or documented. Perhaps you should open yourself up to the Supernatural more often. Who knows what you might find?”


End file.
